Saving the fox VII: Del amor y otros tormentos
by Therrae
Summary: Some battles you can't win with a sword, a mask, and a very fast horse.
1. June 12, 1814

_The marvelous title I owe to Senselesswords! It is much cleverer and more elegant than any of the directions I was going in._

_As usual, I own nothing and make no profit...and I wish all the best to those that do! _

**June 12, 1814**

The signal was a single small explosion in town. In the open it was only a flat 'popping' noise. At once, Felipe snatched up the candle and lit the first set of fuses. While he did that, there were another three pops from town. Shielding the flame with his hand, Felipe raced around behind a flat rock and lit the next set. Then he rubbed the candle out in the dirt and raced down the slight hill. The low point was a muddy trickle this time of year. In another month it would be completely dry and rocky. A donkey was waiting there, loaded down with sacks of grain. Felipe took the donkey's rope and headed directly south, away from the pueblo, the (very) long way home.

The line of explosions started going off: little bursts, a pause, more noise. Felipe ignored it, heading through the cover of a young orange orchard. A few minutes later he felt the thunder of horses racing past. He continued south until he was out of the trees, then turned east, toward home. He risked a glance back they way he'd come: the imperial soldiers were riding back toward the pueblo again, not so fast this time, still looking for the 'rebels' they were expecting. Felipe dropped his head and slowed down. A kid, a peasant...no one would give him a second look.

No one did. He came to the King's Road and turned north.

Safely home, he put the donkey in the corral and the sacks of grain in the corner for Don Alejandro's race horses. It was only a little after dawn. Juan was already out checking the stock and Pepe was mucking out the stalls. Felipe slipped away into the house and down to the cave. He was only a moment ahead of Gilberto. Toronado was lathered; he'd come home the long way, and fast.

"Well?" Felipe demanded before reaching for the cinch.

"It was perfect. It was glorious. You should have seen me."

They had to hurry. Diego would try to keep Don Alejandro from rushing home, but Felipe and Gilberto needed to be waiting innocently in the library when they did arrive. Gilberto changed and combed his hair while Felipe swiftly rubbed down Toronado and covered him with a little blanket.

In the library, Gilberto glanced out the window. "Nothing yet," he said, and pointed to the little side table. "And flatten out your hair, you look like you've been running."

Rolling his eyes, Felipe patted his hair. Gilberto dropped into a chair at the game table and swiftly began moving chess pieces around, playing both sides of the game until the board was scattered with chessmen. Abruptly, he glanced at the window and got up. "That must be them. Look worried; you _like_ Mendoza."

They met Don Alejandro and Diego as they came in the front door. "You're smiling," Gilberto said. "You were right? Palomarez didn't go through with it?"

"Oh, he certainly tried," Don Alejandro said, scowling suddenly. "He tried. Zorro had something to say about it."

"Zorro?" Gilberto repeated. "That's good. Isn't it?"

"It's excellent," Diego said quickly, clapping his father on the shoulder. "I'm still trying to figure out how he managed it, but Palomarez and his men are even now riding north, and that is what matters."

"You must tell us everything," Gilberto said. "You skipped breakfast, come and eat something and - "

Don Alejandro interrupted impatiently. "What happened is that the good people of Los Angeles - including me - stood there and watched as a member of our garrison was led to the gallows. Not one hand was lifted in his defense until Zorro arrived."

Gilberto's mouth popped open. He looked a little like a fish. "But, Father!" He spread his hands in confusion, which seemed to Felipe a very reasonable response. He had left Gilberto at home because he hadn't been sure his volatile son could keep his temper in the face of the outrageous behavior of this king's emissary. He had taken Diego (only slightly less volatile, but too frail to act on his anger) with him because 'If we cannot stop this injustice at least we will at least, by God, witness it with our own eyes and remember!' He had been adamant that public resistance could only lead to widespread tragedy.

"One man - _One man_! - risked his life for _our_ justice, and I stood there and did nothing!"

Diego winced, but he took a step closer to his father. "There was nothing you _could_ do. We cannot fight the government. We all know how that ends - "

"Zorro - !"

"Zorro is protected by his anonymity. As long as he is not caught, he can act with complete freedom and safety. The risk is very small."

Instead of finding this reassuring, this only seemed to make him angrier. "How can you stand there and excuse - " He broke off, snapped his teeth together, and turned on his heel. The door slammed behind him.

"Well," Gilberto said. "That was...unexpected."

Diego took a deep breath. "He's ashamed. It seems to him he is risking nothing for this fight on our behalf. Don't scowl at me 'Berto, he doesn't know."

"But where did he go?" Felipe asked.

Diego sighed. "The north pasture? The orchard? Away from _me_, that is all that matters. He doesn't dare stay here and quarrel." Diego buried his head in his hands for a moment, then dropped onto the settee and sighed again. "Oh, Father."

Gilberto folded his arms and began to pace. "Will he do something foolish, do you think?"

"No. What can he do? He cannot beat the government without betraying his king. And he has servants and clients to think of, an invalid son to look after. He won't do anything but despise himself." Diego closed his eyes. "Let him be for a while. Someday...He'll understand."

Gilberto paced, not answering.

Diego sat up. "It was magnificent today. Beautifully done. Perfect in every respect." He dropped his voice and added, "I was so proud of both of you."

Felipe felt himself flushing with pleasure, even though his part had been absurdly simple. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"_You_ are going to work on your history lesson, _I_ am going to update the monthly accounts, and _you_," this to Gilberto, "are going to inspect fences for a few hours; make sure you are looking innocent and industrious."

"Is that supposed to be a punishment or something?" Gilberto asked, as much puzzled as irked.

"It is the least demanding thing I can think of that will get you out of the house."

"Why do I need to be out of the house?"

"Because you'll brood if you sit here."

Gilberto didn't even try to argue with that.

Z

Summer was turning out to be warm and not impossibly dry, so the weeds were trying to take over everything. When he finished with his history lesson, Felipe set to weeding the flowerbeds out front. He was still working at it when Gilberto returned for lunch. He was smiling when he came in the side gate and Felipe was immediately suspicious. He brushed his dirty hands off on his pants and asked, "What are you up to?"

"Up to? What could I be up to?" At Felipe's stern look he said, "Nothing. Honestly. I met some vaqueros by Oak Creek. Everyone is talking about what happened in town this morning." He looked ridiculously satisfied.

He had a right to, though, so there was no point in teasing him. And Felipe was actually kind of pleased he'd come home: When both his father and brother were gone from the house, Diego tended to produce lots of very good ideas about things to do during siesta that weren't resting.

Don Alejandro didn't come home during lunch or during siesta. Diego wasn't worried, though, despite how angry his father had been when he left. Felipe decided to take advantage of Gilberto's good mood and Don Alejandro's absence and ask for a fencing lesson.

It was still quite warm. Gilberto took off his vest and rolled up his sleeves. After a moment, he took off his boots and motioned Felipe to do the same. Felipe obeyed, but cast Diego (sitting in a cane chair in the shade of a rose trellis) a doubtful look.

Diego shrugged. "One of Sir Edmund's tricks."

So Felipe went along with it. Sword lessons these days actually included _swinging_ swords, which was very exciting, even though it was mostly positioning exercises. Today they only did exercises for a few minutes before Gilberto was signaling him to advance.

So barefooted and a bit sweaty, Felipe did his best to get past Gilberto's guard while not overbalancing against the swing and remembering not to cross his feet. His bare feet gripped the stones of the path, making moving more difficult but balance easier.

It seemed to take forever before Gilberto signaled a break and Felipe stepped back and panted. Gilberto, naturally, wasn't even really sweating. "You missed quite a fight this morning, the best since Spain, perhaps. Say, Diego, did you see that little combination?"

"Which one? Palomarez nearly had you twice."

"He did not! Anyway - here, Felipe, come at me low - slowly, and then - yes, come up under my arm- " Three times he coached Felipe through an attack, each time stepping into it differently. He was frowning, distracted, and Felipe had no clue what he was supposed to be learning from this.

"Here, just a moment," Diego said, rising. "May I?" Felipe handed over the sword and stepped out of the way. "It wasn't down and _under_, it was down and to the side." Diego made the move very slowly, the sword in his hand moving as lightly as a falling rose petal.

"Yes, that! How do I counter that?"

"You mean rather than just dodging madly? Here, to me..."

Slowly, Gilberto dropped his tip, came in and arced to the side. Diego took a half step back and popped his sword down vertically, neatly in the way of the swing.

"You can't do that at speed," Gilberto protested.

"Of course you can. Try it faster...See? And again."

The third time the blades were moving so fast that all Felipe could see was a bright shimmer. They didn't stop with the deflection; Diego took another step forward, feinted to the left and ended with his blade beside Gilberto's neck.

Gilberto muttered angrily. "You mean I could have had him then!"

"Yes...and no. I've had hours to think about it. Here, you try," And Diego stepped back, lowered his blade, came under and to the side, was neatly rebuffed - Gilberto didn't try for the throat. He ducked low and went after Diego's belly. He might have scored a touch if Diego had been standing in the same place, but he was already moving, forcing his brother to turn to keep up. Diego was already on the attack. Grinning, he pressed forward and Gilberto gave ground.

Gilberto looked completely shocked by Diego's advance. As he backed off the path he nearly lost his footing in the rose bed. That seemed to remind him he was being herded into thorns, and he set his teeth and swept at Diego's feet. Diego must have seen it coming, because he skipped neatly out of the way.

Gilberto was back on the path, now, though, and on the attack. He struck again and again, the blunted tip of his practice sword buzzing around Diego's face like a bee. Diego deflected each strike neatly. The long blade that always felt so ungainly to Felipe _danced_ for Diego.

Gilberto was grinning. Zorro never, ever, looked this happy.

And then Diego's sword went flying out of his hand, and Felipe had to duck because the hilt narrowly missed his head. When he looked up again, Diego was backing away, bent over, one hand pressed to his side, gasping.

Gilberto tossed his practice sword point down into the soft earth of the flowerbed and caught Diego's arm. "Down," he said. "No, here, all the way."

Diego fought feebly for a moment before giving up and allowing himself to be lowered to the ground. "Fine...Fine...I promise..." he panted.

"You can't even speak!" Gilberto said sharply. "No, shut up. I'd call you all sorts of idiot, but I'm as bad. Oh, Diego. I am so sorry."

"Fine," Diego waved Gilberto away, but Gilberto wouldn't move.

Felipe squatted down on Diego's other side and took his hand. The pulse was fast, but regular and strong. The fingernails - pink. Felipe thrust the hand into Gilberto's field of vision.

Gilberto groaned with relief. "He's overheated." He thrust a clean handkerchief at Felipe. "Go wet this at the well."

When Felipe brought it back, cold and dripping, Gilberto was apologizing again. "I would not hurt you, not for anything - "

"Hush," Diego said. His breathing had already slowed a little. "I'm fine. Stop. You didn't...hurt me." He took the damp cloth from Felipe and grinned. "It was magnificent."

"Diego - "

"_Wasn't_ it?"

Gilberto looked away and nodded.

Diego let his head drop back. "You're better than you were."

"I only beat you because your heart couldn't manage."

Diego smiled contentedly, his breathing almost normal. "No. You would have had me anyway. This time." He coughed. "I'm out of practice."

Gilberto's head snapped up. "No," he said.

"Yes. Why not?"

"You know why not!"

"Because I'm sick? I didn't faint. I'm not even dizzy."

"You're covered in sweat."

"So are you!"

"Only because you've frightened me out of half a year's growth."

"'Berto. We'll take it gently. I'll pay better attention. Next time - "

Gilberto rolled his eyes and muttered a prayer. "_Next_ time!"

~TBC


	2. November 2, 1797

**November 2, 1797**

"Oooo, I've got a good one," Francisco said, holding up a fat crawdad. It was pale and muddy and squirmed in his fingers.

"I can find a bigger one," Ramon sang, almost reflexively.

'Berto rolled his eyes and ignored them. He could find a bigger crawdad than both of them, but he wasn't supposed to brag about it: he was older and richer and bragging was unbecoming.

He dug his toes into the soft, cool mud and looked for a likely rock. He flipped a large, flat one and peered through the cloud of dirt that swirled in the water. No crawdads, but two mudpuppies; he scooped them both up, holding their soft, slippery bodies in his hands.

"Gil_beeeer_to," Diego called, sliding and skipping down the steep hill above the narrow creek. "Gilberto, come on. We have to go." He stopped and set his hands on his hips, all bossy and reasonable and pretending to be mature.

"Catch," 'Berto said, pretending to throw a mud puppy at him.

"Put your shoes on. We have to go."

"Don't be stupid. We haven't had the picnic yet. And there's a bull and bear fight later."

Diego stepped out on to a flat rock and lowered his voice. "We have to go now. Papa is sick."

'Berto leaned down and released his mudpuppies. "That's really stupid. Papa's not sick. He was arm wrestling with Don Carlos before. And he's going to ride Princess in the race this afternoon."

"I mean it, 'Berto. Mama said - "

Ignoring him, Gilberto turned away and looked for another rock. When he leaned down, though, Diego leaned over and _pushed_, and suddenly he was on his hands and knees in the cold water.

'Berto hopped up at once and launched himself at Diego's waist. Normally, they were very evenly matched with a slight advantage to Diego, who was a bit taller, but this time Diego was standing on an uneven and slightly slippery rock, and he went flying backwards. 'Berto landed on top of him and pressed his advantage. This was a rare opportunity to give his irritating younger brother a good dunking, and he wasn't going to let the chance slide by.

For several seconds, Diego squirmed and pushed back, swinging his head and making 'Berto shy aside, but then he went suddenly still. His eyes went wide. Gilberto grinned and started to throw his weight forward -

The small, strong hand that caught him from behind lifted him completely out of the water and dumped him in the bank. The surprise at being pulled out of the fight was nothing compared to the surprise at who had done it.

"Mama!"

She was angry. Not irritated-and-trying-not-to-be-amused, not impatient-but-affectionate, not even vexed-because-really!-can't-you-boys-_ever_-relent. Angry. "Put on your shoes. _Quickly_. We have to go home."

"_Told_ you," Diego sang, squishing out of the creek.

Mama turned to him. "This is the help I asked for?" Her disappointment was palpable, but she didn't scold him. She just turned and climbed up the hill.

'Berto grabbed his shoes and hurried, barefoot, after her.

At the top of the hill was the small cemetery, decorated for the Day of the Dead and crowded with families setting out offerings and laying picnics. Beyond that, the wagons and carriages were parked. Mama skirted the edges of the crowd, hurrying toward the open carriage they had brought this morning. Hopping and wincing at the pebbles, 'Berto followed. Diego squished behind.

Tall Gus was in the driver's seat. Papa was sitting in the back. Princess was tied behind...

It was very odd and all wrong.

Mama dug into the carrybox at the back of the carriage and produced a wool blanket. "Alajandro? Here." She held it out.

He shook his head, but his arms were crossed tightly against his chest and he was shivering. He wasn't wet, though, and it was warm. There was no reason to be cold.

Sighing, Mama climbed into the carriage and wrapped the blanket around him anyway. She motioned to the twins to hurry and take the seat across. Gilberto climbed up, then Diego. Gilberto turned a bit so he could dust off his feet and put on his shoes and socks.

"We're ready, Augustus, if you please."

'Berto glanced at Tall Gus as the carriage started forward. Normally, Father drove the carriage, and mother sat in the back between 'Berto and Diego. This just wasn't...right.

It was only two miles home, but it seemed longer. Nobody said anything. Diego had has hands balled up and his eyes closed. Even with the blanket, Papa was shivering. Mama pushed her shoulder close against his.

~TBC


	3. July 5, 1814

_Thanks, Pam. You are a saint, as always. And kind soul to those of us who have come late the fandom. _

**July 5, 1814**

"I wish you would," Diego said, not looking up from the tiny chisel he was using to carve a neat line of tiny flowers in a leather strap.

"I know you wish I would," Gilberto answered. "That's why you're asking so politely. But I don't want to."

"What do you have against Mendoza?"

"Nothing, except that he is boring and has no courage of his convictions."

"That's unfair. He follows orders. All soldiers must, even the bravest and most estimable."

Gilberto grunted. He was seated in the sun, a writing desk in his lap, copying out a music score by hand. There hadn't been a ship in four months, and the family needed wedding presents for Don Luis and the Pascal girl.

"He's a good man," Diego pressed.

Gilberto paused long enough to roll his eyes. "I am not arguing that. And it's not as if I want him to come to harm; I just don't want to go to his birthday party. I don't know how you got Father to go. He hasn't forgotten that Mendoza was no help when you were arrested."

"Mendoza did what he could, Father knows that; he was a soldier once himself." Diego blew away tiny shreds of leather. "Perhaps Mendoza reminds you of things you would rather forget."

"He has a dangerous job, and may one day be killed by some folly of...the alcalde..." Felipe thought he was thinking it might be Zorro's fault, though.

"That, yes. Or that you might be thinking of other friends who also have to follow orders...who might right now be forced to serve under a commander who is stupid or cruel?"

"I had a letter from Julian last month. He's fine," Gilberto snapped.

"You didn't mention it."

"You didn't feel well. And you don't like Julian."

"I don't _dislike_ Julian. And I did go to _his_ birthday."

"Well, if you're going to this one, you better go change. It's almost eleven."

Z

Don Alejandro wasn't particularly enthusiastic about Sergeant Mendoza's birthday party. Well. He hadn't been invited because he and Mendoza were dear friends. The alcalde wasn't throwing the party because_ he_ was Mendoza's dear friend, either. It was all about politics. Or, no, maybe it was about everybody being polite and friendly and...well...grateful about the whole Palomarez thing. People had been dancing around each other a lot lately. Nervous and embarrassed and relieved.

And afraid he might come back. With a bigger army.

So while it was uncharacteristically generous for the alcalde to sponsor a birthday celebration - even a very small, very informal one - for Mendoza, it was understandable that he would make some effort to smooth over the community's uneasiness.

Out of respect for the social event, Don Alejandro, Diego, and Felipe dressed in going-to-church clothes and took the buggy to town. Felipe suspected that while Mendoza might be flattered by the fancy clothing, the more formal things were the more uncomfortable he would be. Apparently, the party was to be a surprise to the guest of honor. Felipe hoped he happened to have a clean uniform on.

There was a sign on the door of the tavern: _Closed for Private Engagement_. Diego pushed open the door and held it for his father.

Inside, the tavern was very dim and a little hot. All the windows were shuttered. "What is that?" Don Alenjandro asked, walking to the center of the room.

"I think they're presents," Diego said. "Although what they are doing on the floor in the center of the room..."

With a sinking heart, Felipe realized that they had left Mendoza's present behind at the house. Before he could tape Diego on the arm and tell him, though, there was a thunk behind them of the lock dropping into place on the door. Diego spun around. "Ricardo Quintana," he said.

Quintana had a pistol in each hand. He smiled. "You remember. How nice."

Don Alejandro took a step forward. One of the pistols twitched minutely and he froze. "What do you want?"

"Revenge," he said reasonably. He glanced at Don Alejandro's hand, which was hovering near his only-slightly-ornamental dress sword. "Take it off and lay it on the bar."

Don Alejandro swallowed hard. He didn't take his eyes off Ricardo as he unbuckled the sword belt and stepped back to lay it on the bar.

"Very good. Now come with me." He walked sideways, several steps a head, both guns pointed at Diego. He opened the door to Victoria's store room and motioned them inside.

Diego gasped and froze in the threshold. "Move!" Ricardo snapped. When Diego stepped out of the way, Felipe could see that Victoria, Mendoza, and the alcalde were already in the room. Their feet were tied as well, and they were gagged. They sat beside the wall, their arms tied over their head to rings set in the wall. There were two more rings. With the pistol in his right hand, Ricardo motioned to one and then another. "Have a seat, if you please," he said politely. "Not you," he added to Felipe. "Pick up that rope."

Felipe didn't move. He considered signing that he didn't understand. He considered just signing "go to hell."

Ricardo pointed a pistol at him.

"Do it, Felipe," Diego said softly, his hands signing, "Think," at the same time.

So Felipe took the rope and tied Don Alejandro's hands to the ring in the wall. Then he tied Don Alejandro's feet. Ricardo was watching, so he couldn't spoil the knots. Don Alejandro never flinched or looked away from Ricardo. "Is it ransom? Your latest scheme to extract money from innocent people? If it is, you 're going about it badly."

"Eight months I rotted in that pig sty of a prison in Monterey. Eight months without one single day of hope. And they never let me see Myatana... You remember her? So beautiful. So proud."

"She was a fraud and a thief, just like you, Quintana." Diego winced when his father said that.

Ricardo only said woodenly, "She died last month. You see, she had no notion what prison can do to the human spirit."

Don Alejandro did flinch a little at this. "I'm sorry she's dead, but your sentences were just. She was a swindler with no scruples. She took advantage of people's grief and fear."

Ricardo tossed a filthy rag at Felipe. "Gag him."

Don Alejandro glanced at Felipe and nodded. Reluctantly, Felipe put the rag in his mouth and tied it behind his head.

"Tighter!"

Don Alejandro nodded again, and Felipe complied.

"All right. Now the other one." He pointed at Diego.

Diego gave Felipe a wan smile and lifted his hands over his head. Felipe tied his wrists to the ring. He tied Diego's feet.

"Every night after she died...every night, I lay in my cell, planning my escape, dreaming of my revenge. And now that precious moment has arrived." He took a rag from a shelf, tore off a long strip, and dropped it in Diego's lap.

Felipe dropped his eyes meekly, took the rough cloth, and firmly gagged Diego. As he leaned over him, he gave Diego a very hard look. Then he stood up.

Ricardo holstered his pistols and said, "Come here."

Not bothering to hide his fear, Felipe shook his head vigorously. He took a step backward, careful to keep close to Diego.

Ricardo came closer, looming threateningly. "I can shoot you. I don't have a ring to tie you to; it would be as easy."

Felipe took a step closer. And another. Ricardo reached for him, and Felipe scooted back. Ricardo followed and was suddenly within reach of Diego's long legs. Diego was wearing his good shoes, but still his feet struck Ricardo in the side of the knee with considerable force.

Ricardo fell forward to his knees, one arm milling, the other reaching for his weapon. Felipe grabbed the arm that was trying to draw a pistol. Ricardo was strong. He twisted so sharply that Felipe felt him slipping away. Frantic, he clamped his teeth down as hard as he could. Ricardo squealed in pain. Felipe squeezed with his jaw, holding on and riding out the jerks and tugs. He was distantly aware that Diego was striking with his legs again and again.

Felipe tasted blood.

Ricardo jerked and fell sideways, taking Felipe with him as they crashed to the floor. The landing very nearly knocked Felipe loose, but it freed his feet to start kicking.

Then something crashed into the side of his head, a ringing, sparkling blow that made the world retreat for a moment.

The blankness immediately gave way to waves of pain so terrible that Felipe almost didn't notice Ricardo shoving him off onto the rough floor of Victoria's storeroom.

Cursing and shouting, Ricardo picked himself. Felipe knew he should get away - get up and run! Now! He had to get help, because there had only been one chance and he'd messed it up - But he couldn't move.

And then Ricardo's booted foot slammed into his stomach, driving the breath out of him and scooting him several inches backward. Ricardo shouted again and slammed his fist into the side of Felipe's face. He tried to turn away, but was caught by the boot again: his ribs, his shoulder, an awkward blow along his hip. Several more punches rained down, and then a large strong hand closed around his throat and squeezed. Felipe brought his legs up and kicked as hard as he could, but his feet couldn't connect with anything. The hand around his throat was joined by another, and Ricardo lifted him up and slammed him back down onto the wooden floor.

The world went black.

Z

The world went from thick darkness to painful brightness all at once. Felipe squeezed his eyes shut and tried to move. His arms and shoulders and wrists ached terribly, and movement was impossible. Afraid now - terrified, frantic - he tried to roll. The pain took his breath away and his eyes popped open.

Through the searing light, he saw Diego. His head was down and his teeth were clinched around the gag. His hands were wrapped around the ring, and he was rocking it, trying to wiggle it lose.

It didn't seem to move.

There was no sigh of Ricardo. Where was he?

Felipe closed his eyes and the world faded away again.

Z

He woke again to an irregular tapping. Felipe tried to take a deep breath, but even that small movement hurt so badly it made him dizzy.

A thump. The sound of breaking glass. Felipe realized he'd been splashed with something cool and wet. Very slowly, he forced himself to open his eyes, then turn his head. A couple of feet away was a puddle of - wine? blood? - with a partly charred fuse lying in it.

Diego?

He lifted his eyes. Diego was slumped under the ring, his hands slack, his shoulders lifting and falling in slow, hard breaths. His eyes were closed, and Felipe had no way to get his attention.

A soft tap to the left of Diego. Felipe turned his eyes. Don Alejandro was watching him. When Felipe met his gaze his eyes softened, but not much.

There was no way to send a message, even if there had been something to say.

Perhaps he could move; try to free himself; at least reach Diego; something! Felipe tried again to turn over so he could bring his legs in. The pain was like a spike thorough his shoulder joints, but this time he could tell that he was bound _to_ something, not simply bound. His throat hardened and twisted and tears prickled at his eyes. When they overran, he couldn't wipe them away, so he tried not to cry anymore.

Instead, he tried to look around. He couldn't see Ricardo anywhere. Would he come back? Felipe felt a stab of fear. It wasn't bad enough to make him try to move again.

Suddenly, Don Alejandro's head shot up and he arched his back. He shouted against the gag. A moment later Felipe heard a voice: "Father? Diego?"

The door slammed open and Gilberto stood outlined by the brighter light of the outer room. He froze, his mouth dropping open. Then he spun, stepping back out. He was gone for several long, frightening seconds.

He returned a moment later, running in the crowded room. He had one of Victoria's kitchen knives in his hand. At Don Alejandro's side he leaned down and reached behind his father's head. He must have cut the gag and the ropes binding him, but he didn't pause there, but spun and dropped down beside Diego.

Felipe closed his eyes. Gilberto would look after Diego. That would be all right, then.

And Ricardo...wherever he was, Ricardo was no match for Gilberto. The tears that pricked at him this time were relief.

"Felipe?"

Felipe slitted his eyes and found Gilberto crouching over him.

"Felipe?"

He wondered what the question was and how he was supposed to answer. Then he stopped thinking entirely as the strain in his shoulders and arms gave way to raw agony. The rope coming off was even worse than having them on. Felipe twisted, but he could not escape the pain. His throat clamped and knotted and forced out an odd, high-pitched noise.

From somewhere far away someone called him. It might have been Diego.

It was definitely Gilberto who snapped, "Hold still, damn it! Stop fighting me!" By then, though, the worst was over. Felipe was still at last and lying flat on the floor. Above him were the rafters of Victoria's store room. Every joint in his body still hurt, but at least in this position all the other little pains vanished and that was a wonderful relief.

"Be still," Gilberto said, more gently now. "Be still, we are...we are done with the worst of it. Do not try to move."

Felipe was happy enough to obey.

From somewhere - too far away - Diego said, "How bad?"

"I don't know yet. Give me a moment."

There was movement...a jumble of noise Felipe couldn't follow...the soft murmur of Don Alejandro's voice...it was the sound of Diego being ill that roused Felipe. He must have had a bad faint. Felipe tried to roll to his knees.

Gilberto spread his hands wide and pinned him. "Be still, I said," but his voice wasn't angry this time. "Father has him. I promise, he will be fine."

Felipe's hands felt thick and clumsy and were just starting to burn: circulation was coming back and _that_ would hurt. He couldn't say anything with his hands like this, but he stared at Gilberto resentfully.

"I know you want to help, but the best thing you can do right now is stay still and be quiet. Please. Please. I'm sorry, Felipe I am. But you must be still. Hearing you cry is more than he can stand. And-and he is afraid you will tear your throat. Please. Please."

Felipe couldn't look at Gilberto anymore. He closed his eyes. He clinched his teeth while Gilberto's large hands pressed on his arms, on his legs, on his ribs. Both side were sore: he'd been kicked several times.

"Can you find any broken bones?" That was Diego's voice.

"No...no...I can't find any. But I don't know..." It seemed to Felipe that Gilberto talked for a long time, but he couldn't have said later what about.

Someone - not Gilberto - wiped his face and gave him a little water.

The pain in his freed hands spiraled upward until it was bad enough to make him pant as feeling returned...but finally that faded.

A lot of voices seemed to be talking.

The next moment of real clarity was the sensation of movement and the smell of leather and shoe polish and very nice soap. Felipe opened his eyes: Gilberto again.

He was being very carefully carried. "Don't fight me," Gilberto said softly. "You're not as light as you used to be."

Felipe tried to nod and found that that hurt.

"Just hang on. We'll get you somewhere soft where you can rest. I know this must hurt, but it's nearly over."

Felipe kept still. There was nothing else he could do really. It was only a few more steps anyway, before he was in a dim, cool room. There was breeze and a little sliver of afternoon sunlight. One of Victoria's rooms, but Felipe couldn't remember which one.

The bed was wonderfully soft - better than being carried and much better than the floor. For a moment he held very still, delighted at how little he hurt. Then he had to breathe. It was only a little movement, but it brought back the ache in his ribs and the burn in his throat.

Everything else still ached a little, too. Even holding still. He couldn't even begin to count all the places.

Gilberto looked down on him and sighed, then turned and disappeared. He was replaced at once by Victoria. "Well," she said briskly, "You look much better already. Here." She very gently removed his shoes and covered him with a blanket. Then she opened the curtains. In the brighter light she studied him very seriously for several seconds. "I will get some water. The doctor will be up in a few minutes to finish looking you over. If you haven't hurt your head too badly, he will give you something for the pain. In the mean time I will...go and get some water and some towels." She reached to pat his shoulder, reconsidered, and smiled resolutely before bustling away.

As she went out Don Alejandro came in.

He sat down on the side of the bed and sighed. "So." He paused to check that Felipe was looking at him, when he saw that he was, he continued, "The doctor is coming. He wants to look at that cut again, but he thinks it is shallow enough that he won't need to stitch it closed." He smiled grimly. "Be glad of that. In the mean time, you mustn't worry. You'll be just fine. A few days of rest...you'll be just fine...Anyway. I'll stay to translate for you. If there is anything you need to say..." It was the soft voice he used for gentling horses.

Slowly, stiffly, Felipe signed, "Diego?"

Don Alejandro sighed and studied his hands. "He...had a very difficult time, but he is doing much better now. Father Benitez is with him downstairs." He swallowed. "He saved us, you know. It was Diego who...He managed to put out the fuse. As upset and ill as he was, he was still thinking very clearly."

"Gilberto?"

That drew a ghost of a smile. "We left Mendoza's birthday gift. He was bringing it to us, can you believe it? He is not nearly so harsh as he pretends to be."

"Gilberto? Where?"

The smile vanished. "He is going with the lancers and several of the young men to hunt for Quintana. I can't say I blame him."

The doctor came then. He pushed and pulled and squeezed much more cruelly than Gilberto had. His verdict in the end, though, was the same: no broken bones.

He cleaned the blood out of Felipe's hair and washed the cut with something that stung horribly. He bandaged it, but didn't put in any stitches. He was not certain, though, that Felipe hadn't cracked his brainpan (there were several lumps under unbroken skin), so he wouldn't allow laudanum, only willow tea. As tempting as the idea of being forced into sleep was, Felipe had to agree that he was right. His head spun every time he moved, and his vision kept blurring, even though he had stopped crying.

Not great signs.

When the doctor was gone, Don Alejandro and Victoria cleaned up the blood that was left. Don Alejandro passed the ruined clothing to Victoria and tucked Felipe into the bed. The entire process was exhausting and painful, and by the time Felipe had time to collect himself a little, Victoria returned with willow tea and some milktoast. Felipe's hand shook when he tried to take the cup, so Victoria clucked at him and fed him in a way that was ridiculously motherly: she was only seven or eight years older, after all.

She was very kind, though. She didn't rush him at all. Or ask him any questions he couldn't answer. Or look horrified at how battered and messy he must look. When all of the tea and most of the soggy bread was gone, she kissed his temple - as light as a butterfly - collected the tray, and slipped out of the room like a ghost.

The light slanting in through the window crept up the wall, then began to redden. Felipe let his eyes drift shut, held very still, and breathed as slowly as he could.

Was Diego all right? There was no one to ask, and very likely they would lie to him anyway.

What was Gilberto doing? Probably _not_ whatever his father thought he was doing..._What_, though? Gilberto was unpredictable when he made his own plans.

Father Benitez knocked on the door, disturbing Felipe's slow, muddy thoughts. Like Gilberto and then the doctor, he examined Felipe. Unlike them, he used only the tips of his fingers so nothing hurt worse when the inspection was over. "Well, you got the worst of it by far." He shook his head. "Terrible business. You'd think I'd get used to evil...but that is nothing to bother you with now. The worst is over. Now you rest and get better - is your stomach upset at all?"

Felipe shook his head minutely.

Father Benitez retrieved a wooden cup he'd left on the bureau, helped Felipe to sit up, and held the cup to his lips. Tepid. Thick. Marshmallow mostly. It tasted rank, but soothed as it went down. Felipe drained the cup. Father Benitez lowered him back to the pillows, drew the covers up, and blessed him before leaving.

The patch of light crawled on up the wall and then shrank and vanished, leaving the room very dim. Felipe closed his eyes and wondered if Ricardo had been caught yet...and if he had been, had Zorro hurt him? Felipe found himself wishing he had, and then feeling sorry about that, because Gilberto had enough trouble with his temper without Felipe _wishing_ he would hurt people.

A footstep in the hall broke the quiet, and Felipe's heavy lids shot open. Diego paused in the doorway, looking down at him for a long moment. "I hoped you'd be asleep," he said softly. He pulled a chair from the corner and sat beside the bed.

Felipe pulled his arms from under the light blanket, but everything he thought to say was just...too hard to shape. He lay still instead.

"They told me you would mend," Diego said. "I had to see for myself."

Felipe tried to smile reassuringly.

Diego reached out and gently fluffed his hair.

The quiet came back for a few minutes. It settled comfortably between them. "I'm sorry. I wanted to say that, too. I...I would have given anything to help you - or stop you. I'm so sorry..."

Diego's hand was lying on the bed. Felipe slipped his hand underneath it.

Diego swallowed hard. "I also have to say...that what you did was very brave. I'm very proud of you."

Felipe rolled his eyes. Brave? Stupid. Pointless.

Diego leaned closer and said very softly, "You had all the courage of Zorro. I would know: I _was_ Zorro for a whole afternoon."

"_Stupid_!" Felipe signed bitterly.

Diego sighed. "It wasn't. It was _desperate_, certainly...Felipe, he fully intended to kill us and he came prepared to do it. Thoroughly. You saw - you _created_ - an opportunity and you took it. You had very little to lose and possibly everything to gain. The fact that it didn't work...doesn't change the fact that it was the right thing to do." He fell silent and lifted Felipe's hand into both of his. "If a mad chance is the only chance a man has, I think he must take it. You were brave and clever to try. I - I am just so sorry you had to. And I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help you before he fell out of my reach. And I wish - " Abruptly, Diego stopped and collected himself. "Well. _That_ isn't what I meant to say. I only mean to say that I am proud of you, and you mustn't distract yourself feeling embarrassed or regretting..."

Felipe managed a nod to show he understood. He also understood what Diego had _not_ said: that he wished Felipe hadn't done it, even if the wishing did fly in the face of reason.

Felipe pulled his hand free and pointed at Diego. When there was no immediate answer, he added a question.

"Oh. I'm...fine. The doctor believes sitting with my hands above my head overtaxed my heart." He made a small, disgusted noise. "_I _think it was more a matter of exertion and utter panic. There was plenty of both, not that either one helped anything. Whatever the cause, it passed very quickly once the ordeal was over. I've been fine for about four hours now." He scowled. "Still, Father has ordered me home. There is no point in arguing with him, since I'd exhaust myself even if I did win. But I wouldn't go without seeing you."

_I'll come_, Felipe thought, trying to get his free arm under him.

Diego caught him gently and shook his head sadly. "It would hurt too much to move you. You will have to stay in this very nice bed for a couple of days. When we're sure of that blow to the head, we can give you something stronger for the pain, but..."

It was reasonable. It was logical. And Don Alejandro was right: Diego should be in his own bed, with his own collection of remedies. The world blurred, but Felipe only blinked quickly and didn't look away.

"I'm sorry. But I will be back in the morning."

Felipe managed a nod.

"And I have another bit of news. This one you will like." He smiled thinly. "The search party brought in Quintana half an hour ago. He is safely locked in a cell where he can't hurt anyone..."

Felipe did smile at this, though his face ached.

A knock on the doorframe startled both of them. Gilberto came in without waiting to be invited. He dropped a casual hand on Diego's shoulder. "Father is waiting. It's time."

Diego started to shake his head.

"I'll stay with him. Why not? It isn't like I had other plans. You go on home. He will be fine."

Diego closed his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

Gilberto leaned down and hugged him hard. "Now come on, I'll see you down the stairs. Everything will be fine."

By the time Gilberto went down and back up the stairs it was quite dark. He lit a candle and set it on the bureau. "Well," he said. "If you are determined to attack brigands twice your size... We're going to have to figure out how to have you _win_, because this is just not acceptable. Hm. Damned if I know _how_, though. It's not a problem I have much experience with. And don't scowl at me. It isn't gloating. It is no fault of mine that I'm tall."

_Still shorter than Diego_. But he didn't have the energy to say it.

He dropped into the chair Diego had left. "Are you hungry at all? There's only soup, I'm afraid, but I had some. It's edible. Pilar made it."

Felipe shook his head slightly.

"Can you sleep then?"

Felipe shook his head again.

"Shall I tell you how we tracked Quintana into the desert, ran him down, fought an epic battle, and dragged him back behind Mendoza's horse?" He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "Nothing so dramatic. Once he had emptied his pistols - no, he didn't hit anyone - there was nothing he could do. The lancers just surrounded him and pinned him down until they could chain him. Well. Bringing him back in chains was satisfying."

Felipe frowned. "Where was Zorro? Why?" The question was awkward and truncated, but Gilberto understood.

"Because if Zorro had caught him alone, he would have killed him. Even knowing I would regret it...even knowing Diego would be furious...and that there are excellent reasons for Zorro _not_ to be a murderer... I would have killed him and I might have killed him slowly. So. Instead of thinking of how ridiculously easy it is to break into the jail...I am going to stay here and look after you. My brother's son, the brave young man who - " he stopped got up, stalking to the window. "You tried to save them. Twice your size and armed, and you tried to save them."

Felipe rolled his eyes at that. What else could he have done? "Me too!" he said.

"Your life too?" Gilberto shook his head. "You could have run. _Diego_ will never think of that. And you probably wouldn't either - Heaven help you and your pathetic sense of self-preservation - but you _could_ have. You didn't. You tried to save them. You couldn't be more like him if you were his by blood...

"Anyway. I will take the high ground and leave Quintana to the law because I am staying here, looking after you...who so clearly deserves my gratitude and loyalty."

Well _that_ was certainly convoluted. But that was Gilberto, always making things so complicated. As bad as Diego, who so often made things _weird_.

"So? Are you hungry? I could get you some soup? It's excellent."

Felipe nodded slowly once.

~TBC


	4. July 9, 1814 am

_So, to recap, Chapter 1: Diego starts fencing again, Chapter 2: malaria, and Chapter 3: Felipe has the holy heck beaten out of him. I suppose it's not a secret anymore that I find the domestic dramas more interesting then swordfights and slinking around on the roofs?_

**July 9, 1814 (a.m.) **

Felipe woke at midmorning. Diego was sitting in the chair beside the bed, just as he had been on the days when Felipe woke early. Felipe tapped the covers, and Diego looked up from the book he was reading. He checked his watch. "A good sleep, finally," he said. "How is the pain?"

Still much too stiff to easily shrug, Felipe shook his head.

Diego frowned, not believing him. He set aside the book and moved to the edge of the bed. "Can you sit up?"

Carefully, slowly, Felipe sat up. He managed it without help - the first time since he'd been brought to the room upstairs at Victoria's. Diego smiled slightly, and gently ran his fingers down the front of Felipe's throat. "Swallow for me," he said. Although the skin was sore and bruised, inside the swelling was gone and had been since early yesterday. Felipe could breathe and swallow easily without his throat protesting. "That all right? Good. Now for the important question: are you dizzy at all?"

Felipe shook his head. Yesterday the world had still tipped a bit when he'd done that, but now it was steady.

"Excellent," Diego said. "Now, are you lying?"

Felipe looked as affronted as he could.

"Oh, no. Not after last time," Diego scolded. Day before yesterday, Felipe had assured everyone he felt fine. He'd stood to walk across the room, tripped over his own feet, and fallen on top of Victoria. He'd been reluctant to admit the dizziness even though - no, certainly _because_ he knew - that it was a bad sign after blows to the head.

"Sore everywhere," Felipe said. "Not dizzy."

Diego peered into his eyes. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw. "Ready to go home this afternoon?"

Felipe nodded.

Diego helped him with the chamber pot (the first day, Felipe's urine had been pink, and Diego had fussed a great deal) and fetched a tray of breakfast from the bureau. The cup of medicine was beside the cup of juice and the bowl of porridge. Felipe rolled his eyes at the porridge and obediently downed the medicine first.

Diego picked out another book from the pile, this one a notebook with handwritten text. He began to read aloud English translations of great poetry: "Let nothing disturb you" by St. Therese; a couple of the 'short poems' by Manrique; some Gongora. Felipe's English was only good enough to follow along when he already knew the topic.

By the time Diego was well into the Gongora, Felipe was sleepy again. Possibly, that had been the point, as much as getting him used to the sound of English.

When Felipe woke again the light said it was nearly noon. He was alone except for a cat sitting in the window washing its feet.

Since no one was around, Felipe carefully sat up and slid his feet over the side. The dizziness was definitely gone. He took a deep breath: that hurt. He stretched his arms: sore and stiff and clumsy, especially the left one. Ricardo had been vicious when he'd tied his arms behind him.

The door was only _mostly_ closed - a crack had been left to catch a breeze. Out in the hallway, Victoria said, "Oh! Hello, Don Gilberto. Diego has gone over the church. Felipe is asleep."

"Well, of course he has. Why am I surprised?" Gilberto asked sourly.

"So," Victoria said, "Felipe is going home today?" She sounded resolutely cheerful.

"The doctor agrees he is well enough. And it's just as well; the coach is due tomorrow, and you might have guests."

"Don't let that worry you. If we needed the room for Felipe, any travelers could double up. I could hardly evict our local hero, could I?"

There was a long pause, then Gilberto asked, "Is that what people are saying?"

"Well...Some. People who know you well aren't saying much of anything. But...some of the caballeros are holding Felipe up as a model of loyalty and courage. And some of the peons are holding the de le Vegas up as model...well, they're saying the family have _earned_ the loyalty. And on top of all that...some of the women are saying - never mind."

"Oh, no. Tell me. Do, please." And, oh, Felipe didn't like it when Gilberto sounded like that. He felt sorry for Victoria.

"Oh. Well. Just that...it's a shame Diego is unsuitable. The way he dotes on his orphan, imagine how kind and generous he'd be to a wife!" She sounded affronted.

"Ah, well," Gilberto drawled. "As far as that goes, he'd make a perfect husband: very few demands on a wife. And how convenient, when you think of it: the lucky woman would get the de le Vega money and be widowed young enough to marry for love later!"

The silence that followed was so cold that Felipe pulled the sheet up around him.

Finally, Gilberto said, "I apologize. That was out of line."

Victoria sighed. "What _is_ the matter with you, Gilberto?"

"I just _apologized_."

"No, I mean...why are you so angry? Quintana is in jail. Diego is all right now. Your father wasn't injured. Felipe is mending, even if you were particularly worried for him - and I admit you've been very kind - But today you are...I just don't understand why you are-."

"So much more obnoxious than usual?" he asked sweetly. "Quite right. All that is true. I have no reason to be unpleasant. None at all."

Very, very patiently, she said, "I am trying to be kind." And then. "Never mind. If you don't want to talk to me - "

"Why should I talk to you? You're no better than any of the others."

The last of her patience vanished. "Excuse me! The other _what_?"

"The other women, naturally," he answered coldly. "_I_'m not going to marry for love. There's not a woman who can look at me and not see the de le Vega ranch. And the de le Vega plantation. And the de le Vega vineyard. And the de le Vega bank accounts. And the de le Vega copper mine - oh, wait, we closed that because it killed people."

"I certainly don't see what that has to do with me - "

Rudely, he was talking over her. "Women have no way to make money of their own. No way to defend themselves. How could it be otherwise? I can't even blame them. It's just reasonable, and I wouldn't even think about it, except sooner or later Father is going to get impatient...I'm going to have to live with someone who...but that's not the point. The point is Diego _could_ marry for love, to a woman he adores and who doesn't need his money, except you're no better than the rest of them. You have no interest now that he's _unsuitable_."

Victoria gasped. "Me! _I _could never have married - How can you say that?"

"Oh? 'How can I say that?' How _could_ I be so cruel?" he mocked nastily. "Are you going to pretend not to have noticed how he looks at you?"

"He doesn't! And even if he did, I could _never_ have married Diego. I'm not even close to the same class - "

"The same _class_? How amusing! Or rather how stupid! Do you think he cares? That he's even noticed? You can't think Father would care about class? And even if he did, he'd give Diego anything he asked for."

"Diego and I..." Victoria faltered. "Diego and I are_ friends_. And if even if you were right...it isn't up to me. What could I do about it?"

Gilberto snorted. "Miss Victoria, if you really are such a poor woman that you do not _know_, you can always take lessons from the siren who is staying at our house."

There was a short silence and then the floor shivered slightly as someone heavy stomped down the stairs.

Felipe sat leaning against the headboard, his knees drawn up, stiff and achy and completely appalled. Gilberto had been so good - for months!- about not saying horrible things. And this was particularly unkind, given that Diego was obviously smitten with Victoria and _couldn't_ marry her...and Victoria had very publicly been taken with Zorro.

Oooo.

_That_ might not sit very well with Gilberto - that she was so approving of Zorro and so unimpressed with the man wearing the mask.

He felt sorry for both of them.

After a while Diego came in carrying a pottery cup. Orange juice. Felipe wondered how much laudanum was in it.

Diego sighed. "Go ahead. I know Gilberto and I have...well, we've said frightening things about its use. But this is only one dose. Two miles is a very long way on a bumpy road."

Felipe drew himself up and tried to look sturdy.

Diego shook his head. "I know you could bear it. But _I_ couldn't stand to watch you hurting for no good reason."

Felipe drained the cup. He felt very unhappy when he handed the cup back.

"It feels very pleasant, Felipe. You won't mind it," Diego said, seeing his worry. "Now. Let's get your sandals on; walking down the stairs will be easier on you than being carried.

There was a brisk knock at the door, which swung open. "Diego? Your brother was looking for you earlier? Did he find you?"

"Yes, thank you." He chuckled. "It is a very small town; you'd have thought he'd had to search Madrid for me."

Felipe, remembering what he had overheard earlier, dropped his eyes in embarrassment. How could he look at Victoria after hearing that?

"Yes. Diego. I don't suppose... He was in a terrible mood, Don Gilberto - "

"Really? A terrible mood? You must be kidding!"

"No, even for _him_. I mean, he isn't normally _openly_ unpleasant. Not now that he's grown up. Whatever is the matter with him today?"

Diego sighed. "I apologize for whatever he said. He's been...a bit upset by our houseguest."

This was a surprise to Felipe, since as far as he'd been told, the only guest the de la Vegas had was a minor colonial official who had arrived two days before. Apparently Victoria had the same thought, because she said, "The surveyor?"

Diego shook his head. "His daughter. Gilberto..._dislike_ is the word, I suppose, although it lacks something."

"Really?" Victoria asked curiously. "She was in town for market day. She seemed very...pleasant. A perfect lady."

"Oh, yes, she's pleasant," Diego said. He sounded amused. "She's polite. Perfectly charming." He shook his head and lowered his voice, "Gilberto is convinced that she is cold-hearted and up to something nefarious." At Victoria's short laugh he nodded. "I would think nothing of it, except Father also seems to dislike her."

Victoria gasped in surprise. "Surely not!"

"Oh, he hasn't said anything. He never would. He always said you can't speak badly of a woman; she doesn't carry a sword and can't avenge the insult." He seemed to think this was a perfectly reasonable position. Victoria covered a smile and glanced at Felipe as if to confirm that there was no accounting for de le Vega thinking.

"That's very chivalrous," she said, biting back a smile.

"But he hasn't warmed up to her at all, and he won't leave her alone with either of us."

Victoria laughed. "That little tiny woman!"

Diego shrugged. Felipe was suddenly intensely curious to see her.

He was also feeling strangely light headed. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Diego caught his chin and peered into his eyes. "It's time to get you down the stairs. Victoria, I hate to ask for your help, but..."

"Between us I'm sure we can manage." She offered Felipe both hands and drew him up. Carefully, with Diego on one side and Victoria on the other, he walked to the stairs. Walking, actually, wasn't so bad; it was standing straight that made his ribs and back ache. The stabbing pain was dimming to a dull ache, though, and Felipe took a deeper breath.

The stairs were the real challenge, of course. Felipe moved very slowly, holding the banister with one hand and Victoria's arm with the other. Diego was behind him. One of his hands was also on the banister, but the other was close enough to catch Felipe if he lost his balance.

At the bottom, Felipe sighed. He tried to roll his shoulders, but no, the right one was horribly stiff and the left hurt.

Gilberto came in the front door. He scowled impatiently. "If you'd waited I would have helped."

"We managed," Diego said gently, ignoring Gilberto's acid tone.

"Let's finish it then. The carriage is outside."

It was bright outside, and dusty. Felipe's eyes narrowed. He let Diego steer him to the side of the carriage and he let Gilberto boost him up. Diego climbed up beside him and Gilberto took the front seat.

Felipe sighed. He was ready to go home. He found himself sagging sideways onto Diego's shoulder. Diego took his hand.

"How much did you give him?" Gilberto asked.

"Enough to put him to sleep. Don't look scandalized. His breathing is regular and his pulse is fine."

Felipe had no idea what Gilberto might have answered.

The next voice he heard was Don Alejandro's, and he was still trying to figure out what that meant when he was handed down to the ground and held gently upright until he had his feet under him.

In his own, tidy little room at the back of the house, Diego gently settled him on the bed and removed his sandals. "Felipe, do you need anything? Would you like some water?"

Oh, _yes_. Felipe pushed himself up and held out his hand. Diego steadied the cup while he drank. Felipe drained it and sank gratefully back to the bed.

"Are you warm enough? I have a blanket - "

"For heaven's sake, stop fussing. He's fine. It's siesta; why don't you go lie down in - "

"I'll stay. You can't say sitting is 'taxing.'" He folded his arms and set his feet.

Gilberto shifted. He would have probably paced if there had been room. Instead, he folded his arms. "He was very kind to me when I was...indisposed with an internal problem." Snake bite. "And he isn't nearly as messy or querulous a patient as I was."

Diego didn't answer.

"Or perhaps you think we can't manage for a few hours without you." His grip on his temper slipped a bit. "Really, Diego! He is practically asleep with his eyes open. He won't miss you. Go rest!"

So he went, and Gilberto sat down in the room's single chair. Felipe had no idea what he did next.

~_tbc_


	5. July 9, 1814 pm

_You know, I have hundreds and hundreds of page of _Saving the Fox_ now, and I'm still profoundly annoyed at the way the original series just dumped an evil twin (and a kidnapped baby!) on the family and then killed him off and then gave us no chance to see them deal with any of it. You'd think I'd have worked through it by now, having spent so much time trying to figure out who Gilberto might have been and giving him a life...but nope._

_Not mine and no profit, but my profound gratitude to the people who bought the rights and made the series available. May the Gods bless you. _

_And thanks again to Senselesswords for the title. It means "Love and other nightmares" _

**July 9****, 1814 (p.m)**

The shadows were lengthening when Gilberto roused him again and forced him to drink some water. Then he handed him a damp flannel and let him wipe his face. It was cool and lovely, but it did almost nothing to clear his thoughts. Gilberto looked down at him as though he were waiting for something, but Felipe couldn't think what. After a moment, Gilberto, looking bemused, retrieved the cloth and held out his hand. "Can you get up? Do you need to relieve yourself? Are you hungry?"

Hungry! It took a moment, though to get the word out.

Gilberto steadied him as he stood and shifted to the chair. A tiny folding table had been set up next to it, and bread and cheese and cold sausage and a cup of bean soup had been laid out. Not really very much of _anything_, and Felipe frowned a bit.

Gilberto sighed at him. "Just be glad you aren't eating with us tonight: Senor Herrera is off for a two-week swing to the east to make some maps, so Father is making a bit of a party out of it." He checked his pocket watch, then retrieved his jacket from where it was draped over the doorknob.

There was no spoon laid out. Felipe lifted the cup in both hands and took a swallow of the soup. He wished it were hotter...but perhaps not; he might well spill it on himself. At least he wasn't still being fed.

"He's leaving his daughter here until he gets back. So, we'll have a houseguest. Isn't that lovely?" Though his voice was pleasant, his look said it was a dreadful idea. He fussed with his cuffs and sighed deeply. "Do you have everything you need?"

Felipe shoved a bite of cheese in his mouth and nodded.

Z

When he finished eating he found he had no interest in going back to sleep. Finally.

He thought about taking the tray back to the kitchen...but no. He didn't trust his left shoulder at all, and if he dropped all those dishes in the hall next to the dining room - too embarrassing to think about.

He opened the window. It was cooling off outside. Mosquitoes? No. But there usually weren't on this side of the house. He lay down on the bed and stretched carefully.

He wondered if Ricardo Quintana were still in the jail or if he'd been moved to the territorial capital? Or...attempted murder of a government official - and a lancer and two gentlemen - what was the punishment for that? Probably not death, since no one died. But there were prisons much worse than the one in the capital. The Devil's Fortress in Lower California...

Would he be glad if Ricardo spent twenty or thirty years in a dungeon? Would that make up for what he'd tried to do?

Felipe really wished Ricardo had just gone somewhere else once he'd escaped.

He was still turning this over and over in his mind when he heard piano music from the parlor. Even half a house away, it was beautiful enough to make the hairs stand up on his arms. Zorro's adventures and Diego's illness had made Felipe's music lessons an intermittent thing, but he recognized the circle dances and folk songs Diego was playing.

And it must be Diego, because while Don Alejandro was precise and Gilberto was enthusiastic...only Diego was this good.

For what seemed like a very long time, Felipe lay in the dark on top of the covers and just listened. It was the most peaceful thing he could imagine, though he wished it were louder.

After a while the music changed; someone else was playing. One song. Two. Three. There was something odd about the music now, but Felipe couldn't say what, no matter how closely he listened. Then the music stopped entirely.

Maybe they had changed to the guitar? A shame. Felipe's hearing wasn't good enough to listen to that from so far away.

The door slowly opened and one of the twins slipped in. For a moment Felipe couldn't tell which one it was, but then a hand checked against the door frame. Slightly unsteady. Diego, then.

He shut the door. He sat on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands.

Ignoring the protests of the boot-shaped bruise on his hip, Felipe climbed onto his knees and laid a hand on Diego's shoulder.

"No, I'm all right. I'm not ill." A snort. "Not _very_ ill. Mostly - I am just so angry and - "

Felipe wasn't quite sure what to do. With a horse who was upset, you took his bridle and walked him until he settled down. Diego wasn't Sunshine. Felipe wrapped both arms around him.

Diego tilted his head back and breathed, again and again, the too-deep breaths that said he wasn't _only_ trying to master his temper. Gingerly, Felipe found Diego's wrist and searched for the flutter there: steady, but faster and weaker than it should be. Diego slipped his hand free and drew Felipe around to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

"Well...I understand now why Father and Gilberto are so put off by her. Amanda Herrera has no compassion. No human feeling for anyone. We are all here to amuse her..."

It was too dark to ask what had happened, so Felipe just waited.

"She demanded that I dance with her. 'Demanded.' Nothing so direct. Teased and begged and pouted...just a little at a time. There was no graceful way..." Diego ground his teeth. "And then she would not let me _stop_. It was Gilberto who finally rescued me, when he realized..."

Unable to say anything, Felipe thought. The first thing he thought was that if the time Diego had not been playing the piano was an indication, then he had danced for a considerable time before reaching his limits. Somehow, though, he doubted that Diego would be pleased by this observation, even if Felipe could make it in the dark.

The second thing he thought was, why would anyone try to force someone to dance when they didn't want to?

The third thing he thought was, why was Diego clearly so ashamed? _He_ hadn't done anything wrong.

The last thing he thought was, she is going to be here for two weeks!

"I was so dizzy I was seeing spots, and she implied I was insulting her by wanting to sit down - She _must_ have noticed, although it is possible to be that self-centered, I suppose. But I think... perhaps it amused her. Or she was testing me. There are so many polite, pleasant things you can say and be vicious." Diego squeezed his hand. "I am sorry, Felipe. I shouldn't have come here. I - you need your rest."

Felipe shook his head.

"How are you feeling?"

Felipe shrugged his right shoulder.

"I forgot...I made up..." Diego rooted in a pocket and produced a small, square bottle. He pulled the stopper and smelled it before re-stoppering it and handing it back.

"Yes. This is willow bark, mainly. If you need it."

Felipe took the bottle.

Diego sighed.

A soft wind came in the open window and stirred the air. Felipe let his head drift against Diego's shoulder. The corners of the square bottle were outlined against his palm as he squeezed it.

"That woman," Diego said after a long time. "It makes my skin crawl to have her here in the house. I think I'd rather have a snake."

Felipe nodded.

The door opened slightly, throwing a triangle of pale, yellow light on the floor. The triangle slowly widened and revealed Don Alejandro holding a candle. He set the candle on the folding table and reached back to close the door behind him. "Diego? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Father. It was nothing. I exerted myself. I feel fine now."

Don Alejandro ran a hand through his hair. It was already standing out at the back, so he had been doing that for a while. "I'm sorry. Diego, I scarcely know what to say."

"That I could have avoided it if I'd been clever. I let her maneuver me."

He waved a hand, dismissing that. "Politeness and proper decorum is no fault. You always think the best of people, and normally that is a gift. But _this woman_ ..."

There was a short pause. Felipe couldn't look at either of them, so he looked down and watched the candlelight flicker on the coverlet.

Diego sighed. "It's only two weeks. Perhaps you can avoid her?"

"On the contrary. I will do my best to stay close to home. Two _weeks_, Diego! The thought frankly terrifies me. She could cause any number of disasters with that much time. She must not be unsupervised. Certainly, she must not leave the house without one of us."

"That is why her aunt is with her, surely."

"I believe Dona Elizabeth means well...but she may not be quite clever enough..." He pushed his hair back with both hands. "I will try to stay nearby as much as I can. I can delegate more to Juan than I usually do..."

Diego scowled, thinking. "I see what you mean."

"Also...I hate to ask it of you, but most of the burden of watching her must fall to you and me. Your brother..."

"He isn't in the least taken with her."

"Of course not. That won't make any difference at all if she decided to compromise him! And she might... Diego, as much as I hate to think about these things, we must be practical, or we may find ourselves facing a nightmare. I am a very rich man, and..."

Diego nodded when he didn't continue. "And everyone assumes that I won't live long enough to inherit any of it, which makes Gilberto a very tempting catch."

"That is _not_ what I was going to say. Although it does make his position more precarious. What I was trying to say was...there are people who look at a hillside covered with cattle or men working in a vineyard...and see only money. They want only to take and take, Diego, but that won't work. It is a responsibility, the land and the people who work it. Stewardship is a sacred trust. If you don't respect every inch of ground, every drop of sweat, it will all come to nothing. Amanda Herrera...some people know the price of everything and the value of nothing. And that woman will _not_ be raising my grandchildren."

"No, I quite agree."

Don Alejandro bowed his head. "Two weeks. God help us."

"We could send him to Santa Barbara. Or San Juan Capistrano."

"I doubt that's necessary, if we're careful. And after what happened tonight, he would never leave voluntarily."

"Oh, I know better _now_," Diego said sourly. "It is difficult to think clearly when the world is spinning, but I promise, Father, I'm not an idiot _most_ of the time. I won't be nearly so amusing next time she tries to play with me."

Don Alejandro smiled. "I'm counting on it." He rubbed his hands together briskly. "Now. How is this one?" He shifted the candle and looked Felipe over. "Well? Good to be home at last?"

Felipe tried to smile convincingly and nodded.

"Say something."

He knew this was a test: how easily he moved, or, perhaps, a check to see if the blow to the head had damaged his mind. "Diego should sleep," he signed carefully. "He won't; he'll stay up fussing." Felipe suggested the tea-for-sleeping. "It is in the box on the shelf." He pointed.

Don Alejandro looked slightly puzzled. "You keep a tea for sleeping? Where would you get - ?"

"The priest," he answered. Obviously.

"The priest. Father Benitez, I assume?"

Diego nodded, trying not to look too put out. "Felipe has found a formidable ally. Together they are...implacable. However the tea is very mild. He's used it twice before."

Felipe shook his head and held up three fingers.

"More subtle than I'd thought then," scowling, he conceded. "I won't object to it tonight, if it will keep the two of you from worrying. But honestly, I feel fine now."

Don Alejandro rose and retrieved the box from the shelf. Inside were two cotton bags, one pink and the other light yellow. "Two?" he asked.

"The other is for strength," Felipe explained. "Yellow bag. I make it myself now, but it is the priest's recipe: Blackberry leaf, rose hips, white yarrow, linden - " he had to fingerspell out most of the names, and he stopped when he realized Don Alejandro wasn't keeping up. He didn't even usually doctor his horses himself, but left that to Juan or the blacksmith.

He shut the box. "I assume you knew about this," he said.

"He's also started memorizing the medical texts," Diego answered.

"But he's - he can't even be fifteen!"

"No probably not," Diego agreed gently. "_He_ definitely isn't deaf at the moment...Father." He paused, in case his father was going to reject this rebuke, but Don Alejandro only inclined his head slightly and shifted his eyes to include Felipe in the conversation. Diego continued, "It doesn't strike me as unusual. I was doing very complicated maths at fifteen. And writing _nice_ little songs on the piano. This isn't so different."

"I'm not sure it's _appropriate_." He broke off and turned to Felipe. "You are intelligent and loyal, but you are a child."

Oh, no. Oohhh, no. But Felipe could make no protest. Explanations were allowed. And requests. And apologies. But refusals? Disagreements? Not from a 'child.'

Not technically from Diego, either, but he could sound so reasonable that listeners forgot that. "Father," Diego said in that same gentle voice, "You assigned him to care for me. You can't seriously be complaining that he's done too well?"

"You're not at all worried? Not at all?"

Diego reached out and plucked a cotton bag from the box. "About this?" He sniffed it. "I would float away before I could drink enough of this to do any harm. Besides, he uses it only occasionally. And he is closely supervised by Father Benitez. And he does not prepare any of the other medicines without talking to either me or Gilberto. Father...his help has been invaluable."

Don Alejandro closed his eyes. "He would never hurt you deliberately, I know that."

"Nor by accident. He is very careful and patient. He is attentive. Frankly, you won't find a better nurse in Los Angeles. At any age."

He fixed Diego with a hard look, measuring him. "I suppose I can't argue with results, can I? Poor Gilberto - he brought in doctor after doctor - in the capital, no less...and it turns out you needed a village priest and a little boy..."

"And to be home," Diego said softly. "And a little time. I...to say I'm much better than I was..." He spread his hands.

Don Alejandro took a deep breath. "As you say." He took up the pink bag. "How much?"

Nearly dizzy with relief, Felipe answered, "Two spoonfuls. One cup of water. Let it steep until the water is half-cool."

Z

Maria brought him breakfast the next morning: porridge. He recognized the logic of 'small, regular meals, nothing too exciting,' that had been at play whenever Diego was ill...and he was getting a new appreciation for how it chafed. He ate cooperatively.

Diego, carrying a cup of willow tea, came in just as Felipe was finishing. He also had a pitcher of water for the wash basin, and he helped Felipe tidy himself and get dressed. When Felipe moved to sit in the chair, though, he shook his head. "Outside, this morning. The walk will do you good. I know how quickly strength fades when you stay still all day."

It was still pleasantly cool outside. Diego walked him to the shady spot in the rose garden. There was already a pillow in the high-backed chair Diego usually used, and he motioned Felipe into it.

"Father grilled Gilberto this morning about what you've been doing this last year." He winced slightly. "I think he might be trying to work out a way to get you into medical school."

Surprised, Felipe choked on a laugh. "He's nuts!" he said - and then winced and apologized.

"It does present a problem: you are not a proper gentlemen, so you can't go to school in Mexico. At least...not at the moment. Spain is even worse, and this last year, well, politically things aren't going well there. New York is a possibility...but your English would have to be amazing...and then, of course, there is the problem that American medical schools are execrable." He shook his head sadly.

Felipe leaned forward and said, "I can't talk," in front of Diego's nose.

Diego actually looked puzzled. "That hasn't stopped you from learning anything yet."

"Do you think the patients might want to understand my instructions? Perhaps?"

"I admit that is a problem, but it seems to me that it is the least urgent one."

"Completely nuts."

"I have to agree," Gilberto said, coming along the path. "Surely, you're _not_ just now noticing, though? I would have thought my other pair of boots would have given that away." He flashed a brief, Zorro smile. "We're all mad as hatters." He sat down on the bench beside Diego. "What were we talking about?"

"I can't be a doctor!"

"Oh, _that_. Father gets enthusiastic sometimes. He'll come around to something more reasonable." He considered for a moment. "Natural philosophy, for example. There's no reason you couldn't be a botanist. Especially, here, with a whole continent of medicinal plants that haven't been studied or catalogued."

Felipe's jaw went slack.

"Don't look at me like that. I know there's no money in it, but doctors don't make any money either. Fortunately, Diego has made sure you won't have to worry about that."

Felipe's hands dropped helplessly into his lap. Where could he even begin? He was horrified in so many ways! The de le Vegas - bless their hearts - were completely insane. Just when he thought he'd gotten used to them, they said something else astonishing...

The outlaw dressed in black wasn't even the oddest of their ideas.

And he didn't want Diego's money. He didn't _need_ it. He needed Diego. So did Gilberto, for that matter, and Diego _knew_ that, and still, the twins talked about Diego's will so casually, as though it wouldn't be the end of the world when he died. And it would.

The smallest, whitest, oddest dog came running up the path just then. It pranced and gamboled about, chasing its tail and yipping. It was followed a moment later by an incredibly lovely woman.

She glided between the rows of roses, pausing now and then to look down and admire a blossom. Her innocent eyes were wide and delighted, as though she had never seen such wonderful flowers before. Her hair was brown and modestly pinned up, but the sun glittered on it so that she nearly had a halo. Her neck was long and graceful, and her shoulders - hidden so gently by her simple dress - were delicate and perfect.

Felipe could only gape as she continued down the path toward them. Then she was standing right in front of him and _smiled_ and his heart seemed to stop.

"Well," she said, and her voice was like music. "This must be the young man the whole town is talking about. Quite the hero."

Felipe stumbled to his feet and lifted his hands to say - it didn't matter. She wouldn't understand anything he said, even if he could think of something worthy of her attention. And he was sure that he couldn't.

Felipe felt his cheeks and ears go horribly hot, but the angel in front of him only smiled sweetly while Diego made introductions and Felipe tried to remember how to look composed.

At last she looked away and said something to Diego. The words - whatever they were - drifted past like a cloud. Trying to follow what she said was worse than following songs back before the music lessons. Her voice was so pretty and she was standing so close and she smelled so good, better, even, than the roses...

Gilberto rolled his eyes, caught Felipe by the shoulder, and nudged him back into his chair.

Diego, very properly and formally, offered her his arm and escorted her back to the house. Felipe stared after them, unable to tear his eyes away. "Where are they going?" he asked.

Gilberto snorted. "You, too. Naturally. Try to pay attention. Diego and Father are taking her to town for lunch and to visit the seamstress." He paused. "You do realize that woman is a viper."

Felipe was still too astonished to think clearly. "She is even more beautiful than Victoria!" he said. He would never have believed such a thing could be possible.

"'More beautiful than beautiful,'" Gilberto murmured sourly. "How apt."

Something in his voice made Felipe look at him twice. "How do you not notice? How can you even _think_ with her around? She is - " amazing, impossible, magnificent...

Gilberto scowled. "Notice? Of _course_ I notice. I notice everyone! And I feel - " He caught himself and looked at Felipe sternly for a moment. When he started talking again, he had the overly-patient look of someone trying to explain something to a child. "The world is full of beautiful, charming, compelling people. And yes, you _look_ at them and you feel immensely...moved. But, Felipe, 'beautiful' is not the same thing as 'good.' Not at all. And all being _moved_ will ever accomplish is to make you stupid."

Yes, yes. Blah, blah. He wasn't quite young enough to need this lecture. "You can't judge the book by the cover, beauty is on the _inside,_ vanity is vane - " He stopped because Gilberto was sadly shaking his head.

"If only it were _only_ vain. Sometimes beauty is a weapon. Innocence and sweetness and earnestness...can all be faked. And used." He sighed. "The irony is, of course, is that even knowing this is no defense. One makes excuses, or forgets... No, don't look worried. I'm not the least bit charmed by this little wolf." His voice was very hard. Felipe asked what exactly had happened the previous evening.

"She pretended not to understand that Diego had good reasons for not dancing. She teased and charmed...and then she flattered...And Diego danced with her. She wouldn't let him stop at one. She pretended her feelings were hurt, and there was no way Diego could have extracted himself politely, especially since he was embarrassed and trying to pretend nothing was wrong. It took him far too long to realize what she was doing...but then, Diego never expects people to be evil." Absently, he snapped the head off one of the yellow roses growing beside his chair and began to carefully remove the petals. He stacked them very neatly on his knee. "She was curious about how damaged Alejandro de le Vega's son was, and it amused her to indulge that curiosity. Can you imagine? He has never harmed her, poses no threat to her, there was no possible gain... It only amused her. Even Ramone doesn't indulge himself without _some_ kind of excuse. She is more evil than he is, and that is saying something."

That was horrifying. Felipe could horribly imagine it. How could a woman be _that _bad? A little petty maybe? Or a little stupid? But really and truly bad? It was amazing.

Gilberto met Felipe's eyes and shrugged. "I know," he said sadly. "I am an adult, a man of the world, even. And I do understand precisely how utterly poisonous she is...And still, I find myself moved by her beauty. As always, I know better, and I cannot stop myself. What does that say about me, eh, Felipe?"

He seemed very serious, so Felipe gave the question serious consideration. "You're stupid," he shrugged.

Gilberto laughed sadly at that and brushed the neat pile of yellow petals off his knee. Felipe tapped his arm for attention. "Will he be all right? Today?"

Gilberto softened slightly. "Oh, yes. Today he will be the very soul of politeness...and as unmovable as a rock. He will show her no weakness. He will be fine."

Still. The party was in town until late afternoon, and Felipe couldn't stop himself from worrying. He remembered how awed he felt when she looked at him, how kindly and innocent she looked. How could anyone - even someone as clever as Diego - keep his wits about him when faced with that utter perfection?

But the gig returned with the party intact, Senorita Amanda talking cheerfully with an older women and her ladies' maid. Diego and Don Alejandro were on horseback, not even in the little carriage with them.

Felipe allowed himself to let go of some of the tension that had gripped him all afternoon, but he could not forget that she would be staying for two entire weeks.

_~TBC_


	6. July 11, 1814

_One of my favorite films is __One, Two, Three__, a Cold War comedy staring James Cagney as an important businessman whose entire career rests on his ability to control the sexuality of a 17 year old girl (his boss's daughter). And the point is that he can't, of course. It doesn't matter that the social system hinges on men controlling access to women's wombs (patrilineal inheritance doesn't work if you aren't sure your wives' children are also yours), because women are not __**things**__. Unlike things, women make choices and can be very clever. They can (for example) run off and get secretly married to a Communist. _

_So, anyway, it _is_ a very funny movie. And it says something useful: the old rules that said women were powerless and passive and meek must always get tangled in the actions and desires of real people. _

_Or, wait, maybe that's the tragedy... _

**July 11, 1814**

The next morning Gilberto appeared with a breakfast tray. He motioned for Felipe to sit up and set it across his lap. "Father says it should take you at least a week before you're well enough to eat with the family, and you're welcome to stretch it out to two."

Well. That_ was_ odd.

"You are innocent and good. He's keeping you out of her reach." He dropped into the single chair, stretched his legs out in front of him and tilted his head back.

Felipe looked down at his breakfast. Corn porridge and burnt sausage, orange juice and milk. This wasn't Maria's cooking. He looked back at Gilberto. His arms dangled limply beside the chair, and his eyes were closed. Carefully balancing the tray, Felipe stretched outward and nudged Gilberto's arm and shook his head: what was going on?

Gilberto opened his eyes and looked at him bleakly. "It was a bad night," he said. "It was... a very bad night. He is sleeping, finely. I have not been to bed at all. Maria is sitting with him now."

Felipe looked around franticly. He could not shift the tray: his shoulder wouldn't bear the weight and there was nowhere to put it anyway. He reached for Gilberto again.

"No. Eat your breakfast. He is _asleep_ now. You can't do anything for him. And Maria is with him."

Felipe glared mutinously.

Gilberto's eyes drifted shut. "He is so brave. Zorro has nothing on my brother."

Felipe drained the glasses of milk and juice so they wouldn't spill and carefully slid the tray down to the foot of the bed.

Gilberto snorted. "For pity's sake, what are you going to do? Wake him up? Sit and stare at him? You'll get me in trouble: he forbade me to tell you. I am not to compromise your recovery."

Felipe rubbed his face. "Too much worry," he said.

"Damn right, too much worry." He jumped up, but there wasn't room to pace. "As if that business with Quintana weren't bad enough, we have that woman in the house."

"And me," Felipe said unhappily. But Gilberto didn't see it.

"I'm taking her to see the Mission today. Father is edgy; it's best if he stays here, I think."

"You can't go alone," Felipe protested.

"I'm taking her duenna, her maid, and Pepe - and, of course, there will be the Franciscans and few hundred neophytes. We'll be fine."

So Felipe spent the morning in his room, reading. After lunch, Don Alejandro (wearing his work clothes) came and got him. Chairs had been set up in the back rose garden. There were pillows and a pitcher of water with cups. He settled Felipe in one of the chairs, then returned a few minutes later with Diego. He was still pale and Don Alejandro was hovering, but Felipe didn't think Diego was concealing dizziness or exhaustion.

Don Alejandro produced a basket of tools and began to cull the roses: methodically, he snipped two out of every three blossoms, so that the ones left to fruit would produce larger, denser haws. There would be flowers in every room, tonight...

Normally, Felipe would have claimed a share of those flowers to make into rose oil, a practice Don Alejandro approved of. But Felipe couldn't imagine crouching over the still for hours at a time, not today or even tomorrow.

Diego took some stale bread from his pocket and crumbled it on the path, coaxing down some finches. It was very like something he would have done when Felipe was small. The little grey birds hopped and chirped and pecked at the ground.

When the crumbs were gone, the birds scattered. Diego looked after them for a moment, then asked, "Are you angry with me?"

"No! What for?" And then, "Did you _do_ something?"

"I kept you out of it, last night. It was the right thing to do, and I'm not apologizing, but - "

"You were sick! You didn't need to be worried about me, too!" And Diego _would_ have worried, if Felipe had been there.

"Oh. Well." Diego smiled slightly. "I had come up with some wonderfully logical arguments for why you should forgive me."

Felipe reached out and patted Diego's hand in the most patronizing manner he could manage. Diego laughed. He looked as though he would say something else, but he glanced toward the house instead. Maria was coming along the path, Sergeant Mendoza just behind her.

Maria looked stern and Mendoza looked a bit sheepish.

As he came to a stop, Mendoza reached for his hat, seemed to realized he wasn't actually indoors (though this spot of garden did resemble a parlor at the moment), and hesitated.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant," Diego said. "I can offer you a seat, but you'll have to go get it yourself. There's a bench - "

This only seemed to fluster him further. "Oh. Don Diego. No, I mean...I didn't know you weren't feeling well." He glanced at Maria. Even in retreat she looked disapproving. "I am sorry to bother you today. Perhaps I will just pay my respects and - "

"Nonsense. I am perfectly able to sit and have a conversation with you, and we would enjoy the company." He sent him off to fetch the bench, pretending not to notice Felipe's curious look.

"Let's start with something small today, hm?" Diego said when Mendoza was seated on one of the little wooden benches that had been close to the house. "Something simple." He produced a small, blue leather book and passed it to Mendoza.

"This is...poetry?" he asked, frowning at the page.

"That's right. We have to start somewhere...and you should become more comfortable talking about, well, romantic things."

Sergeant Mendoza spent a whole hour reading aloud sections of poetry. It was very halting at first, and awkward. Diego was so serene and serious through the whole thing that Felipe didn't dare laugh.

When Diego had finally - mercifully - sent the sergeant home with the book and instructions to return the next day, Don Alejandro materialized from behind an arbor of yellow tea roses. His cheek and knees and palms were smeared with dirt and he had the rose clippers still in one hand. "What in the world was _that _about, Diego?"

Diego sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Sergeant Mendoza has asked me to teach him how a gentleman courts a lady."

"In order to court _which_ lady?"

"Senorita Amanda, of course," Diego said. "Like half the town, he is completely smitten."

Don Alejandro tossed the clippers down and put his hands on his hips. "And you agreed to this? My God, _why_, Diego? I thought Mendoza was a friend of yours! You know how she will respond. How could you do this to him?"

Placidly, Diego said, "Because I have no hope of talking him out of it. If he's going to woo her, he might as well do it right. That might be less embarrassing, in the end."

Don Alejandro snorted. "She will utterly humiliate him."

"Like every other suitor, I have no doubt," Diego agreed. "But, Father, in a few years he'll be ready to retire. He'll want to settle down. It would be better if he has some...skills before he has to court a woman in earnest."

"It's a horrible idea," Don Alejandro said.

"So is leaving Mendoza to his own devices."

Don Alejandro shook his head hopelessly and returned to his work.

Later, Diego and Felipe helped him carry the baskets of rose cuttings into the house and, with Maria and Nuela, filled every vase in the house with flowers: pale red, velvet red, yellow, pink...And the smell! So much of the world smelled like dust and horse and manure, but then there was also this miracle of beauty and joy.

Don Alejandro and Maria finished placing the vases just as Gilberto and the others returned from San Gabriel. Senorita Amanda looked around in dismay and erupted in three, quick, meek sneezes. Solemnly - sorrowfully, apologetically - she explained that flowers made her sneeze, and she could not possibly endure so many!

_How marvelous,_ Felipe thought. They could take the flowers out of her room and she could stay in there for the next dozen days or so. Or, no, the flowers would probably only last five or six days at most...

A dream, of course. Don Alejandro (smoothly brushing off Senorita Amanda's simpering apologies) collected all the vases from the public areas and moved them to the family bedrooms. He showed no sign at all that he was put out about the inconvenience. Given that he was surely furious, his lack of concern made Felipe feel kind of nervous.

When the shifting was done, Felipe had a rainbow of color in his room-thirty or forty blossoms, at least. There was probably a jug of flowers in the bunk house, too. And the kitchen. Possibly the barn. Poor Don Alejandro.

Felipe had ample opportunity to admire his beautiful flowers. When Felipe started to help gather up the vases, Don Alejandro announced that Felipe looked 'tired' and sent him off to his room to 'rest.'

Z

The following day things went completely pear-shaped. The alcalde himself appeared (with the somewhat battered carriage that belonged to the garrison and a small honor guard) to ask Senorita Amanda to go on a drive with him.

It was a perfectly reasonable invitation and included her female companions. Senorita Amanda herself proclaimed the idea 'charming,' which left Don Alejandro in an awkward position: he wanted to keep the girl under direct supervision, but to refuse to let her spend a few hours in the well-chaperoned company of a prominent citizen - a representative of the government, no less - would be unacceptably rude.

Don Alejandro spent the afternoon prowling the house (and barn and shed and corral) growling at servants and vaqueros. At last Gilberto volunteered to ride out and keep an eye on the party from a distance, which seemed to help a little. He sat and glowered instead of poking his nose into things and criticizing.

And then Mendoza appeared at the door for his next lesson in courtship. Felipe installed himself discretely in the library, a good position to see the parlor without being involved in the proceedings. He was burning with curiosity about what Diego would say to Mendoza - especially since he seemed to be feeling well enough to make a good job of it.

"First, you must get a woman's attention. You must be clean, your uniform tidy, and you should be confident."

"Yes, that makes sense," Mendoza said tentatively.

"And you already know how to do all that," Diego said encouragingly.

"That will not get her attention."

"No, that is only readying the troops. Your actual charge will be - well, one approach that is nearly foolproof is direct, specific, respectful flattery."

"Flattery. Yes, I see," Mendoza nodded. "Flattery can be very affective. Unfortunately, I have never been very good at it."

"The trick is to actually notice the person you are speaking to and to and give genuine thought to your observation. It isn't enough to say something that sounds nice or that you imagine she would want to hear. You have to mean it."

"But...I always mean to say something nice," Mendoza protested.

"Suppose you tell a woman she has beautiful eyes, when in fact her eyes are a little crossed? She would be offended! Or to compliment her hair ribbons when she is obviously wearing a new dress she is proud of. Hmmm. Perhaps we ought to practice."

What followed would have been hysterically funny if it hadn't been so horrifying. Every time something absurdly inappropriate, trite, or just plain puzzling came out of Mendoza's mouth, Felipe gained a new appreciation for the perils of courtship. As bad as Mendoza was, Felipe could not imagine doing any better.

Worse, as stupid as the phrases sounded coming out of Mendoza's mouth, they would be even more ridiculous in signs.

Don Alejandro, who had been critiquing Mendoza's increasingly more desperate attempts at romantic flattery, finally called a halt. "Any woman who will let you talk for twenty minutes about how pretty she is...is a woman you want to worship from _afar_, not marry. At some point you are going to have to have a conversation with her."

Mendoza looked astonished. "What? Like with a...normal person? What could we talk about?"

Don Alejandro rolled his eyes. "The same things we _all _talk about: rain and the water supply, the most recent ship at San Pedro, the price of hides, who has the best bull, who has the fastest race horse."

"But-but - how could I talk about such - such _mundane_ things with Senorita Amanda?"

"Yes. Something to think about, isn't it?"

Diego shot his father a dark look. "I think what he means is that a thoughtful discussion about common interests...can go a long way toward capturing a woman's attention. For example, for me it might be...politics or history or a favorite book or poem."

Mendoza laughed. "Women do not talk about politics."

"Generally not," Diego agreed in an odd tone of voice. "But what would it be for _you_? You grew up a little north of here, didn't you? So you know the territory. But you've traveled quite a bit to the districts to the east and south. Most women have a family member - a father or brother - in the military. Some of your war stories - suitably edited - might work. Or perhaps descriptions of the interesting places you've been?"

"Or the interesting things I've eaten!"

"Exactly! Many women know quite a bit about cooking. It would be easy to start a conversation. Er. _Not_ the story about the scorpions."

Oooo. Felipe winced. He'd heard the story about the scorpions.

"But that is one of the most interesting!" Mendoza looked appealingly at Don Alejandro.

"Perhaps you should save that one. It isn't terribly romantic," he said diplomatically.

Mendoza sighed sadly. "I'll never get the hang of this."

Diego patted his shoulder. "You can be yourself. You just need to give a little _thought _to what you say. And, of course, if all else fails, don't say anything at all. Just listen. Half a conversation is listening, isn't it? And you may be very interested in what she says."

"You make it sound very simple. But how can I possibly think about what she is saying when...when...I am so...over come...by her...magnificence?"

Don Alejandro brushed his hand despairingly across his eyes. "You have your work cut out for you, Diego," he said. He pushed up from the chair and left through the dining room, clearly too appalled to stand it any more.

For his part, though, Felipe agreed with the sergeant. It _was_ impossible to think near Amanda Herrera. She walked with a cloud of stupidity around her. Well, no, but a cloud around her that made _other_ people stupid. No mystery how she managed to get her own way all the time, even to the point of convincing Diego to overexert himself. Even Gilberto admitted that she affected him. Although, apparently, his anger went a long way to clearing his head.

Hmm. Felipe would have to think about that. But _later_, because right now Diego was teaching Mendoza to dance.

"Yes, I know, you are well known in town, and here it is enough to approach a woman who is standing alone and grin at her, and that is perfectly appropriate in a _friendly_ way at a public fiesta. But the woman you are thinking of is_ not_ a local girl - and _what_ you are thinking of is not a friendly turn in the plaza rounddance. When you are seriously courting, dancing is a serious matter."

Dancing would probably get Mendoza further with Amanda Herrera than discussing recipes. Surely _she_ didn't cook. But, then, Diego didn't expect Mendoza to succeed with Miss Amanda.

The whole business of women was terribly complicated.

So was dancing: how a gentleman takes a lady's hand, how he offers his arm, how he asks for a dance...

Somehow Diego convinced his father to come back and play the piano...and Maria to come out and play the part of a dance partner. And then Nuela wanted to dance, too, which was how Felipe got drafted into the affair. Listening and moving was not something he could do at the same time. Fortunately, he managed not to actually trip over Nuela's feet before Gilberto reported that Senorita Amanda was returning and the lesson hastily ended.

~tbc


	7. July 13, 1814

_Yes, I know.__It's 17 pages. Some of you will complain that that is too long. Ah, well. There was just not a good place to cut it. _

_As usual, I own nothing and make no profit._

_Gratitude to Martha, who taught me to write injury. _

**July 13, 1814**

It was Sunday, but Don Alejandro decreed that Felipe was not to accompany the family to church. Probably he could have managed the jostling trip into town and sitting still and keeping erect and all the kneeling, but it would have been awful, so Felipe didn't try to change his mind.

Alone in the house, he walked out to the corral to visit Sunshine. The sturdy pony was not happy about the week of neglect. He gave Felipe dirty looks and had to be brought around with a carrot, a bit of cookie, and a good currying (not easy to do, since working one-handed threw his balance off). Even then, he was still a little sulky.

In the cave, Toronado was much more forgiving. He pushed at Felipe with his head. He snuffled around Felipe's ears and nibbled at his hair with his lips. He leaned so hard that Felipe nearly fell over.

He didn't need tending: the feed bucket was full and the stable was clean and the ebony coat practically glowed. Felipe combed out Toronado's mane anyway. He stayed in the cave until it was about time for the family to come home from church. But while Juan and Tomas and Nuela and Pepe and a bunch of vaqueros returned, there was no sign of the main party.

Nobody mentioned that anything was wrong, so probably they were socializing with Victoria or the father. Probably.

Felipe waited in the front courtyard anyway.

When the coach finally returned, Senorita Amanda was chatting gaily with Dona Elizabeth. Don Alejandro and Gilberto looked grim and tired. No one seemed hurt or argumentative or...

What had Felipe been worried about, anyway?

Diego got out of the carriage last. He looked a little grey. He excused himself and disappeared into the house. Calmly, discretely, Felipe followed a few minutes later. He found Diego in his room, lying on top of the covers with his shoes still on. Frowning, Felipe sat down at the foot of the bed and removed the formal church shoes. Then he pushed down a sock and examined an ankle beneath: it was reassuringly bony. No water.

"I'm fine," Diego said softly. "I was just standing too long after church, I think. Oh, Felipe, I don't know how to describe it: I think every unmarried man in twenty miles was swarming around Senorita Amanda. Swarming. Exactly. Like wasps on an apple."

Felipe made a face.

"She encouraged all of them - delicately, innocently, with soft and limpid eyes..." Diego took a deep breath. "I think Father thinks...I think he's worried it will end in violence."

"No!" Surely not.

A sigh. "There was a duel over her at the San Diego Presidio a couple of months ago. Her father thought it amusing, by the way. Well, why not? No one was actually killed."

Felipe winced. It _happened_ sometimes, of course. A fight over a women or an insult to a woman or sometimes men were drunk and the woman was just an excuse... Felipe wouldn't have thought about it being the woman's fault, though. Men had honor to maintain. And their pride - and Don Alejandro had made certain, in the years the twins were gone, that Felipe knew the difference and would know better than to do foolish things...

The rules Felipe had had in the de le Vega household... well a lot of other boys were _obviously_ not getting the same education. But for Felipe it had been clear enough to distill down to a tidy list: don't pick fights just because you can, don't go around insulting people, don't ever repeat bad things about a woman, and avoid people who were stupid as much as possible. The rule about not losing your temper, well, Felipe had a lot less trouble with that then Don Alejandro and the twins.

He had not considered that a woman might bring about a duel on purpose. Or that she would have no mercy at all toward the men who were fighting over her.

But maybe that was usual. It wasn't like he saw a lot of people fighting over women here at the rancho.

Diego sat up and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Give me back my shoes," he said. "I have to appear at lunch."

Felipe hesitated. "I could tell them - "

"No. I won't hide from her in my own house."

Over the next few days, not less than eight suitors appeared to court Senorita Amanda. They sat with her in the side courtyard. They sat with her in the parlor. They took her for carriage rides, if they had carriages. They brought her presents (if they were disgracefully forward). It was all carefully chaperoned, of course. And Diego or Don Alejandro were always lurking nearby to make sure nothing untoward happened.

Felipe stayed out of the way.

Then the parties started. It seemed everyone was having one, and they were all anxious to have Senorita Amanda in attendance. Dinner parties, house parties, two parties held at the tavern because the hosts lived too far away for convenience.

Six days before Senor Herrera was due to return, Sergeant Mendoza managed to get a dance with her at a party at the tavern. Diego crept into Felipe's room after midnight to tell the story. She had done it to make two men jealous and embarrass a third, but Mendoza had been delighted.

After that, Felipe had stayed up, falling asleep in the library so he could get the latest stories as soon as the family came home.

Four days before Senor Herrera was due to return, Don Alejandro, in desperation, threw a small intimate dinner for a few close friends. All of the guests were elderly, married, or female. He invited Victoria and old Don Roberto and Don Sebastian and Don Carlos. He also invited Senora Pascal, Antonio Pascal's widow, as a gesture that he remembered her. She was still in mourning, so no one assumed she would come, even to a small party, but she appeared escorted by her son, Don Emilio.

It was a surprise. Don Alejandro had heard about the business with the will (everyone had heard about the business about the will); he had thought Don Emilio would be too embarrassed to socialize with Diego (a first-hand witness) so soon. It was also inconvenient: a young, unmarried man was the last addition the party needed.

Felipe was almost sorry he was still excused from family meals; it would almost be worth it, to have a chance to watch this from up close. But he was still considered 'recovering,' so he could neither attend nor serve. He spent the first part of the evening in the kitchen stirring things for Maria. He spent the later part of the evening in the side garden, where he could easily hear the music from the parlor. Diego was playing the piano again, and it was lovely to listen to.

When curiosity overrode music appreciation, he peeked through the window. Circle dances, though Don Emilio kept suggesting partner dances and even - scandalously - waltzes.

And then Don Emilio scored a coop by convincing Senorita Amanda step outside into the courtyard with him. Felipe immediately found a bucket and began carrying water to the potted geraniums. Diego, too, came outside 'for some air.' And, of course, Dona Elizabeth stood by the window, looking out...

The whole thing would have been very funny - except that things would get very ugly indeed if Senor Herrera came home and found his daughter had been compromised.

Three days before Senor Herrera was to return, the family returned early from (still another) party. Felipe was still reading his history assignment when he heard the horses in front of the house and then Tomas shouting for Juan and Maria.

Felipe came outside to see Diego and Gilberto bracing Don Alejandro as he climbed - so awkwardly - out of the carriage. Senorita Amanda fluttered on the ground in front of them, simultaneously trying to lean forward and scamper out of the way. As Felipe approached he could hear what she was saying, and his blood ran cold. "-So very sorry! I feel as though it's all my fault! It's just so dreadful - " and then Felipe stopped hearing what she was saying because Don Alejandro nearly fell, and as Gilberto shoved him upright Juan came running up with a lamp and _oh, there was blood_.

It soaked a bandage wrapped around Don Alejandro's right thigh. It blackened the side of his pants and scattered drops into the dust on the ground.

Juan cursed. He ordered Felipe to open the door and sent Maria to get water. Don Alejandro was protesting that he didn't need help now, and Amanda Herrera was still offering melodramatic apologies.

In the tiled entry way, Don Alejandro winced at the brighter light, braced himself against Gilberto, nudged Diego away and straitened to say, "Please. Amanda, my dear. It's nothing. A little flesh wound - a mark of honor. You've had a very trying evening. Why don't you go on to bed? Get some rest. There's nothing to worry about."

No one else moved until she and Dona Elizabeth had vanished down the hall that led to the guestrooms.

Don Alejandro dropped his head and gasped, "The library!" He almost made it, but he sagged and would have fallen before reaching the chair if Diego had not swept it around and slid it under him.

Maria appeared then, with bandages and a basin of water.

Diego squatted beside his father. "Felipe. The shears in the desk, please..."

He cut the bandage away, but when he reached to sluice away the blood, Don Alejandro scowled, "Son, the carpet!"

Gilberto immediately bent to roll it aside. "I must say, Father, that either your priorities or your sense of humor is extremely odd."

Diego washed away the blood, revealing a neat cut in the pale green trousers that went all the way into the flesh beneath. It was a cut longer than Felipe's thumb, and stitched closed more or less neatly. As the last of the water dripped away, though, it was clear that it was still producing a thin stream of blood.

Gilberto growled, "I told you letting Don Pedro doctor it was a mistake."

Don Alejandro twisted around to get a look at his leg. "He's very good with livestock. And Dr. Hernandez wasn't there."

Diego took a large square of cotton from Maria and folded it into a pad. "Well, we will have to get him now. This must be redone."

"It's not that much blood," Don Alejandro protested.

Diego pressed the pad firmly against the line of sutures and held it there. Don Alejandro howled. Diego said, "You have already lost so much blood that you are dizzy. I know the signs. Tomas, would you - "

"As quickly as I can, Patron." Tomas was out of the room before Don Alejandro could override the instruction.

Felipe fetched a stool, so that Diego wouldn't have to squat on the floor.

"Bandage?"

Diego shook his head. "To get it tight enough to hold back the blood, we'd need to stop all the blood to his leg. It's all right, Felipe. Maria...perhaps some tea?"

"I do _not_ want tea."

"Well, you cannot have anything else. You know the doctor is likely to give you something."

"I have an idea," Gilberto muttered, turning on his heel and stalking off.

Suddenly the room was very quiet. The only sound was Don Alejandro grinding his teeth.

"What happened?" Felipe asked.

"I'm actually somewhat unclear about that, myself," Diego said dryly.

Don Alejandro sighed. "You were standing right there. Don Miguel turned his foot on a rock and his strike went low instead of high - "

"No, I meant, what were you doing dueling in the first place. _Really_, Father. You've been lecturing us every other day about keeping our heads, and then you, of all people..."

"I couldn't let the insult _stand_, Diego. Obviously. I admit, I thought he would back down rather than fight me. 'Beating' me hasn't bought him any honor." He sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair. The hand shook a little. "I had to act quickly, before your brother noticed the things Miguel was saying. He would have felt responsible for defending her...her host...I thought at least with _me_...I might embarrass that idiot boy into an apology, but he would have _had_ to fight someone closer to his own age. And Gilberto is fair with a sword, but..."

Fair with a sword. Felipe closed his eyes and bit down on the inside of his cheek. Fair with a sword. He'd been protecting Gilberto, because he wasn't a good _enough_ swordsman.

Well, it was a protection, wasn't it? The twins had been very clear about that: no one must ever see Gilberto de le Vega fight. Even if he could hide most of his skill, someone might notice that he moved like Zorro.

Gilberto returned then, with a blanket under one arm and a wooden box in his hands. "Felipe, go get a mortar. And honey."

And, oh _yes_, that was right. The main emergency supplies were in the cave (which couldn't be reached while Don Alejandro was in the library), but Diego had an interesting store in his room and, of course, there were basic doctoring herbs in the kitchen and the barn. And it might be a while before the doctor came. If Tomas did not find him at home...

"Grind this," Gilberto instructed when Felipe returned. He set a handful of pinkbell root chunks on the side table. Don Alejandro had the blanket wrapped around him now, and the chair was well padded with towels and clean rags so the blood wouldn't get everywhere.

Felipe made himself look away and gathered up the chunks of root. They were hard, and he had to pound them a bit. Gilberto fished another bag out of the box, smelled it, and said to Diego, "This has to be boiled, doesn't it?" He raced off to the kitchen.

"Good heavens," Don Alejandro muttered.

"Oh. Well," Diego said. "You had Juan teach us to look after the horses..."

"How reassuring."

Twenty minutes later, when Diego lifted the compress, the gash was still leaking. Maria had spread a fresh bandage with the cloudy goo Gilberto had made. They quickly exchanged them. Then Maria checked the tea she had steeping in a pot on the side table and poured a cup. "It's bitter," she said apologetically. "You should drink the whole pot."

It was another half hour before Dr. Hernandez came. They had changed the poultice twice more and Don Alejandro had finished the tea, but when the doctor lifted the bandage blood was still flowing. He frowned deeply but only said, "Dueling! At your age. Really, I thought you were more sensible. Don Gilberto, please change places with your brother. Very good, you'll only need to sit there for a few minutes."

He pulled out the game table and began to lay out items from his bag. "I'm going to have to re-do the job. If you think it hurt the first time..." Shaking his head, he fetched two glasses from the wine tray in the corner and filled them with water from the pitcher. He took them back to the table and measured out three tiny spoonfuls of something dark and thick into each. "Never mind, never mind. Two weeks and you'll be feeling just fine again."

He gave one to Don Alejandro and the other to Diego.

Diego shook his head politely.

"It's not a suggestion, young man," he said gently. "We can't afford two emergencies just now, can we? You're already far too distressed, seeing all this. Your heart is burdened enough. You need to be_ calm_ and lying down."

Woodenly, Diego took the glass and drained it. Then he got up, kissed his father on his cheek, and retreated to his room.

Gilberto nudged Felipe on the arm. "Go with him."

In his bedroom, Diego used the pitcher and basin to wash the blood from his hands, retrieved the ceramic bucket from under the bed and - calmly - was sick into it. He used the last of the clean water to rinse his mouth. Only when he sat down did he notice Felipe standing in the opening between the outer room and the sleeping area. "Don't be scandalized. I don't _need_ it and there was no point in arguing."

"I'm sorry," Felipe said. He didn't know what he might be sorry for.

Diego sighed. "I am better suited to be out there than 'Berto. He must be furious - more with Miguel than with_ her_, but even so...It won't help his temper, seeing..." he ground his teeth and shook his head.

"We could change places?"

"You and Gilberto? I suspect you'd be as much help, but...how much would it upset you to see it?"

"I would be upset if he _dies_, but...it shouldn't be upsetting to _fix_ someone." Should it? Would it? Felipe hadn't spent a lot of time looking at injuries. He had spent weeks with Diego, when he was sick and getting worse and nothing seemed to help, and _that _was bad. That was terrible. But this shouldn't be. Surely.

"Very well. Go. Send 'Berto back."

In the library, Maria and Juan were lighting lamps and setting them everywhere. Tomas was building up a fire, even though the room was quite warm. The doctor was at the table, fussing with his instruments. Don Alejandro had been moved to a chair without arms and turned and braced against another sturdy chair so that the outside of his leg was facing upward and easily accessible. Gilberto was still pressing a compress against the wound, trying to hold in his father's blood. It wasn't working.

Felipe squatted down beside him and waited till he looked up. "Go to Diego. I will stay."

Gilberto, already pale and tense, seemed to turn to stone. "Why?" he whispered.

Felipe told the truth and explained it very carefully. It was the only thing he could think of that would convince him. "You must stay calm, thinking, careful. You know why. If you go to Diego, you will be calm because Diego must be calm."

Above them Don Alejandro stirred. He looked at them with glassy eyes and Felipe wasn't sure he even saw them until he said, "He wants you to go to Diego. Do it."

"Papa, no," Gilberto groaned. "It's bad enough Diego - "

"There are things you should not have to remember, my son." He closed his eyes. "Things I would rather you didn't see. It's all right. Go take care of your brother."

Delicately, Gilberto ceded his seat on the stool to Felipe. They had to coordinate so that the pressure on the wound wasn't interrupted. The cloth was warm and smelled of honey and blood. There was blood on Gilberto's hands, too. They said "No mistakes, boy," before he turned on his heel and stalked out.

No, no mistakes. The twins were counting on him. And perhaps, in the end, not just for this. Someday it might be Felipe doing something very like this for Zorro. Felipe had promised himself that Diego would never have to do it alone. He would do his best to pay attention.

The doctor came back and looked Don Alejandro over. He gave his instructions: Tomas to sit on the floor and brace the leg, Maria to hold tightly to his hands, Juan at the shoulders: in case the laudanum was not enough and he needed to be held down. Felipe scooted as far out of the way as he could and still reach his post. He was penned in on one side by the instrument table and Maria on the other. She gave him a brief, disproving look that he could easily interpret: this was no place for children.

"When I'm done, it will need a fresh poultice. That is your job," Dr. Hernandez said to Felipe.

Felipe nodded.

The doctor picked up a tiny sharp knife and a set of tweezers. "Are you ready?"

Don Alejandro set his teeth and nodded.

"Now, please," the doctor said. Felipe lifted the pad. The wound was obscured by blood and goo, but Maria poured something over it. The smell was sharp, like alcohol, only worse. Felipe grabbed another towel from the pile behind him and soaked up the mess as it dripped. Then - swiftly - the tiny knife dipped down and cut through four of the uneven stitches. The cut parted open, and it didn't look like the diagrams in the book. It also didn't look like the inside of a steer (which Felipe had been expecting). The skin around the wound was grey, and beneath was some white and some tiny bits that were blue and a line of red, and then some stringy bits, and it was all far too wet and smeared over in blood.

With his left hand the doctor wiped some of the blood away and then fished around with the tweezers.

Don Alejandro bellowed like a bear, but didn't move. The doctor leaned sideways and shifted his elbow and Felipe couldn't see what he was doing anymore. "Well, you've nicked a vein, no great surprise. I won't try to repair that... I'm going to tie it off rather than try to cauterize it."

"What wonderful news," Don Alejandro panted. Maria was holding one of his hands and he'd locked the other around Juan's forearm. "I'm delighted."

"You should be," the doctor said cheerfully. "It's better than you deserve. Is Miguelito even a third your age?"

"If he had been old enough to _use_ that sword, he would not have tripped on his own - aagh, God have mercy, _what_ are you doing? Just kill me and be done with it!"

"Now, now. It isn't nearly that bad. There. Maria, if you would pour a little...right here...yes..."

Felipe leaned sideways under Maria's arm to get a look, but all he saw was jumbled bits in various shades of pink and white.

And then the doctor was pinching the flesh together and reaching for a fresh set of needle and thread. Once. Twice. So neatly, with no hesitation.

Felipe ducked out and folded a fresh bandage into a pad, poured out the last of Gilberto's poultice, and spread it with a tiny wooden paddle.

"Rinse it again, Maria, and let's see if...yes, that looks much better. All right. Felipe do you have - ? Ah, thank you. Now hand me some longer bandages..."

No one had to push on it now, just a wide, white bandage wrapped tightly. Suddenly cold, Felipe retreated toward the warmth of the fire. He was shaking a little.

Tomas and Juan lifted Don Alejandro and disappeared with him toward the bedrooms. Maria, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, began to gather up the mounds of bloody cloth. Felipe scampered over to help her. The doctor intercepted him. "Tell the boys it went very well. Barring infection, I expect a full recovery. And I'll speak to them in the morning."

"You're staying?" Felipe asked.

The doctor frowned for a moment. Just before Felipe was about to give up and take out a scrap of paper, he puzzled it out. "Oh. Yes. I will be here, just to make sure. And I do need talk with them."

Diego and Gilberto were praying when Felipe came in. Gilberto raised his eyes to look at Felipe, and then turned away and wept. Felipe raced forward, protesting, "It went well! No more bleeding! It's all right!"

Diego caught him gently. "He knows that. You would not be smiling if...Well, it's all right."

"The doctor is staying; he will speak to you tomorrow." Diego repeated it for his brother, who still wasn't looking.

Woodenly, without turning around, Gilberto said, "Well then. Nothing to worry about. We should all go to bed."

"I want to stay," Felipe said. He wondered if he'd have to assemble a new bedroll or if the old one was still in the wardrobe.

"No," Diego said softly. "You are not sleeping on this hard floor. Not yet."

No, no.

"I'll stay with him," Gilberto said. "You go on to bed. You've done enough for us tonight."

Felipe - barely - kept himself from saying something really ugly to both of them and returned to his room. He prepared for bed (washing all the blood from under his fingernails took three tries) and got into it, but he didn't think he would sleep very much.

He wondered what a cut in a vein looked like.

He wondered how Don Alejandro had kept so still - even drugged - while Dr. Hernandez dug around in his leg.

He wondered if Diego would be all right. Both of the twins had been afraid. They loved and admired their father tremendously, and even as old as they were, they weren't ready to be orphans.

He wondered what Don Miguel had been saying about Senorita Amanda that Don Alejandro had had to take offense. If he had accused her of being licentious...well...you couldn't let that stand. Never. If he had accused her of being cruel or capricious or self-centered, well, it would have been _true_, but you couldn't let that stand either. Not if you were her host.

But no doubt Senorita Amanda could have (innocently, sweetly, protesting that violence was unnecessary) gotten someone else to defend her. Ha. Maybe someone who fought with intent to kill, hoping to impress her with his vigor and skill. And then everyone would have had to do it...

Don Miguel must feel terrible. A fight for form's sake to uphold your pride was not _supposed_ to end in nearly accidently killing a pillar of the community.

He remembered that Dr. Hernandez had been a surgeon in the army before he had been a physician here on the frontier. A lot of doctors couldn't do surgery. Probably Father Benitez couldn't, as good as he was with herbs. It was very wet and messy.

Felipe needed a better clotting agent. He would ask Father Benitez. The little priest had gotten the snake-bite recipe, after all. It had only taken a quiet mention one day to Senora Turron that he had heard (as priests hear so many things) that she had a marvelous talent with snake remedies, and the next Sunday she brought a little bag of samples to church, wilted but identifiable, and explained how to prepare the mixture with other ingredients.

If he put about that he was interested in other useful remedies...

When the sky began to lighten, Felipe got up and dressed again. He went to the kitchen where Nuela was trying to make breakfast. She wasn't much of a cook, and she'd been crying.

Between them, they managed a breakfast of passable chocolate, tea, sliced fruit, cold sausage, corn cakes, and hominy porridge. No one would be thinking much about food, anyway.

The twins were pacing the dining room when Dr. Hernandez appeared. Diego quickly poured him a chocolate.

"Ah, thank you, yes. Oh, it's good news, of course. No more bleeding, thank the Lord, and no fever yet, which is better than I expected." He sat down and took a swallow from the delicate little cup.

Diego sat down and Gilberto put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. When can we see him?"

"He is still sleeping. A few hours, perhaps. Rest, at this point, will do a lot of good."

"Thank you," Diego said again.

"There is a related matter I wanted to discuss with you." He paused. "I want to be clear that I don't have a specific reason to worry, however...I understand that you keep a quantity of _cinchona_ here at the house?"

"About of the pound of the course powder and seven ounces of the tincture. Why? Surely you're not expecting...?"

"I'm not _expecting_, no... But he has lost a great deal of blood, and that will place a strain on his constitution for several weeks to come. The strain to his system may leave him generally vulnerable. It would be best to be prepared."

Felipe felt his heart sink._ Cinchona_ which, he knew from the medical books, was mostly for malaria.

It had been over three years since the last reoccurrence. Felipe had been just a little boy, then, and kept out of the affair. He hardly thought about it, really. Don Alejandro seemed invulnerable. He was strong an energetic.

Well, they were having to think about it now.

"The dosages I took last summer were quite low, however, I think..."

Dr. Hernandez was nodding. "No, that is more than enough. For several episodes, in fact. Thank heavens. I myself have under two pounds of the course powder."

"My God," Gilberto said. "How is that possible?"

The doctor shrugged. "The last two ships had no medical supplies at all. My colleagues in Monterrey and San Francisco are not much better off, although for a few items," he lowered his voice, "they are trading with the Russians. Not _cinchona_, however. They have no southern colonies, and have no need of it, I suppose."

"I had no idea things were so serious," Diego said. "We all noticed a lack of certain luxuries, but..."

"Some others are quite easy to get," Gilberto said. "Spices. Silk. Glass."

Dr. Hernandez shook his head. "Trade with the British or the Americans. But _cinchona_ is from Chile. I don't mind breaking the law to trade with foreigners, the law is unenforceable...but their ships do not bring it."

"What are you going to do?" Gilberto asked.

"What can I do? Many of _cinchona_'s uses have other substitutes, some of them just as effective. Given the side-effects and the potential for toxicity, it often isn't even my first choice. Except for Malaria. No other treatment comes close. I will save what I have for the few cases I am following and hope I do not exhaust my supply before a shipment arrives."

"Don't worry about us," Diego said.

"Do you know the dosage? I have found better effect from the powder, but you must remember to measure by weight, not by volume. For the water also."

Diego nodded.

"If he complains of headache or chills or starts to show a fever without the wound swelling, send for me, but give the first dose immediately. Don't wait."

The twins glanced at one another. "We won't," Diego answered.

"I have to see Senora Verde this morning, and then I should ride out to check the Dias children, but I will return tomorrow. Just to look in on things. I expect a smooth recovery, but just to be sure..." He swiftly filled his plate and began to eat with the efficiency of a man who expected to be too busy to eat again in the near future. The silence was painfully sad. There was nothing to do and so much to worry about. Felipe filled a plate for Diego and set it in front of him. After a moment, he fixed one for Gilberto, too, and motioned him to sit down and eat like a sensible person.

When the doctor had finished, Gilberto walked him to the door. Diego stopped pushing his food around on the plate and, folding his hands, rested his elbows on the table. He looked like he might be praying, but he wasn't. Felipe came around and put an arm across his shoulders. There was nothing to say.

"Stop it, both of you, and eat something," Gilberto said briskly as he returned to the dining room. "Well? _Eat._ We have work to do."

Diego lifted his head.

"Eat," Gilberto repeated. "You are going to have to babysit our houseguest now. There are too many ways she could get me into trouble. Whereas you have an excuse to keep you from doing anything interesting or complicated. And you're smarter than me."

"Lovely." Diego sighed. "It's only a few more days."

"And there will be no more going to parties, not with Father bedridden. At least that is _some_ advantage for us. We will only have to watch her here."

"Yes, that is the best course. Not that I am looking forward to it. I assume you will be sitting with Father?"

"With Felipe's help. And then there is the ranch - Juan can run things for a few days if he has to, but he _shouldn't_ have to. And I was thinking it has been a few days since I've exercised the horse."

Diego looked up sharply, pausing with a bite half-way to his mouth. "You're not going to pay a visit to Don Miguel."

"No. Of course not."

"I mean it, 'Berto."

"So do I. He was twisted round and made fool of by a woman. Well? So was I once. And if I didn't shoot my mouth off and complain about it, it was only because I had something more important to do, not because I'm more sensible. Miguel knows he's an idiot, I'm sure."

The answer must have satisfied Diego, because he resumed eating.

Z

Don Alejandro woke at midmorning. He was irritable, but thinking and speaking clearly. He grumbled as Gilberto changed the bandage and complained about the taste of the tea Felipe brought. There was no blood on the bandage, though, and the swelling was minor. Though he denied being hungry, he ate half a bowl of bean soup.

"Will you be all right?" Gilberto signed.

Felipe nodded, a bit relieved. Despite his determination to put a good face on things, Gilberto had been alternately glowering and worrying all morning. "Go exercise the horse."

Alone - except for Don Alejandro sleeping restlessly in his bed - Felipe set a chair by the window and folded aside a corner of the drape to cast enough light to read. He had the medical books out, but he couldn't read earlier. There was no way to focus on the words with Gilberto so anxiously not-pacing.

The first issue was the _cinchona_: An ounce of the ground bark would take several hours to process (a definite drawback, because if you knew you needed it, you needed it sooner rather than later) and yielded enough for two or three days (which was reassuring, because the recurrence probably wouldn't last more than a week).

Having more of the tincture on hand might be better, but Felipe couldn't tell; the passages in the pharmacopeia were very dense, and in the other book very vague.

One thing that was clear was that it was dangerous. Felipe had read those passages before, and he was not reassured reading them again now...

The second issue was the malaria itself. Marsh fever. Miasmic infection. Felipe hadn't paid nearly enough attention to that. There were so many varieties Felipe had to stop and count...and the symptoms varied, too...although recurring malaria was more coherently described.

And it was bad. Worse than anyone had told him when he was younger. Well, he'd been deaf, then, hadn't he? There would have been no way to know the particulars if no one had sat him down and carefully explained it. It wasn't like now, when he could follow a conversation happening behind or over or past him.

The descriptions in the medical books were not nearly long enough...and very technical...and very mysterious. Yes, it made sense that bad air could make you sick, but why would it still - at random intervals - be making you sick three decades after you'd stopped breathing it? And although people had been searching for decades, why couldn't anyone identify _what_ in the 'bad air' was causing the problem? And why wasn't everyone exposed to the poison affected?

But whatever it was, however one contracted it, it was bad. The initial exposure had a high fatality rate associated with it. That meant people often died. The relapses were also sometimes deadly, particularly if untreated.

Diego probably knew more details. But did he want Diego to talk about it? Surely he had enough on his mind. It might not be an urgent need anyway. The disease was related to swamps and plants rotting in stagnant water, not injuries.

It was a long day. Felipe read until his head hurt from thinking. Eventually Gilberto returned - in a slightly better temper - and Felipe went to check on how Diego was doing. He reported that the stream of suitors had slowed to a trickle but not ended entirely. Diego, looming disapprovingly and continually pointing out that quiet was necessary, managed to keep the visits short. In between, he and Senorita Amanda played English drafts in the library. It kept her busy.

In the early evening Father Benitez arrived. He was such a huge help Felipe could have danced with joy. According to Diego, the two suitors (who persisted in sitting in the parlor gazing moonfully at Senorita Amanda despite the fact that the head of the household was injured and it was impolite to disturb them) quickly crumbled under the little priest's benevolent and solemn gaze and made their polite excuses.

Then Father Benitez shooed Felipe and Gilberto out of the sickroom and spent half an hour there. Felipe had no way of knowing what he and Don Alejandro talked about, but it seemed to do a great deal of good. (Don Alejandro wasn't cheerful afterward - the swelling and fever had started and the pain had to be bad - but he was cooperative and polite, which was an improvement.)

Then he withdrew with Diego to the side yard and examined him. Felipe followed, of course. With everything that had been going on, Felipe hadn't been doing a brilliant job of taking care of Diego, but he couldn't forget where his first responsibility lay.

Diego sat patiently while he was poked and turned and looked at and listened to. "Well," he said, setting Diego's foot down. "No swelling...and your color is good. Better than I expected. Your lungs are clear..."

"You don't seem as happy as I'd hope," Diego answered gently.

"The worries continue and you are tiring. I admit I am...concerned."

"In a few days our houseguests will move on. Father's...I won't pretend Father's injury isn't upsetting. But Gilberto is correct; our path is clear. We must carry on."

"Carry on?"

Diego sighed. "Our houseguest is rather...popular."

A slight grimace. "I had heard."

"And she is...very young. It is possible she does not appreciate the potential for...well..."

"Confusion? Heartbreak? Conflict?"

Diego scowled. "Temptation and disaster."

"Don Diego! You cannot be suggesting - "

Diego looked a little frantic, because _no_, he wouldn't - couldn't - suggest _anything._ "The population is very small. The unmarried population - the marriageable population - There are very few choices. The young men of the pueblo and surrounding ranches - " Suddenly, oddly, Diego laughed aloud. "I cannot believe I am trying to explain this to a priest!" He lowered his voice and tried a gain. "The young men see a rare opportunity. We are afraid that the excitement will overcome _someone_'s good sense...and the young lady will not have the foresight to avoid unhappy consequences."

Father Benitez gave Diego a thoughtful look. "I would rather have said that she did not have any interest in avoiding unhappy consequences that might fall upon someone else." He laughed. "Don't look so startled. I am a priest, not a child. And I have been hearing confessions all week." He sobered. "I lost count at five."

Diego groaned.

"I am almost sympathetic, you know. Some of these young men, they covet her as if she were a racehorse or a new carriage. And the others are thinking only of lust. But what will they do if they succeed and marry her? Oh, love her, I am sure. But love her as a prized object? Or love her as Christ loves the Church? There is a difference, Diego. And most men are not as quick as you to grasp the inconvenient truth that women are human."

Diego groaned again. "Are you trying to tell me breaking men's hearts and creating excuses for dueling is a just vengeance? Or are you telling me I should _pity _her?"

"At the very least, you must take her seriously. Don't act like a man, act like a strategist. Find her weakness, and exploit it to bring about the end you want."

"Father!" Diego scolded.

It got him another stern look. "I _am_ assuming that the outcome you desire is honorable and painless for everyone."

~tbc


	8. November 4, 1797

_You know, I'm old enough to remember the Cold War. Heck, I'm old enough to remember when the average consumer in __any__country didn't own a computer. And now I look at the hit counter and I see Slovakia and Poland and the Russian Federation and Hungary and Lithuania and Germany (GDR, FRG...Germany is all one country now, who can tell?) and I'm amazed. Here I am, with all of you, all over the world... enjoying this little hobby. We communicate so easily and casually and __freely__, just because we want to. _

_I'm glad._

_Anyway, I own neither characters nor situations and make no profit. No violation of domestic or international copywrite is intended. _

**November 4, 1797 **

The dappled filly tossed her head and fought the bit. 'Berto dragged her around. She fought that too.

From the fence, Juan whistled a warning. Gilberto shut his jaw hard on the urge to shout at him. Juan was right. The filly wasn't ready. 'Berto slid to the ground and led her aside. He slipped out the bit and put her in a hackamore. He walked her. He checked her hooves. He tried to do it all calmly, but she spooked and rolled her eyes.

Diego, of course, wasn't unfocused or tense. He talked very gently. His eyes and hands were in the right places. His seat was perfect. His horse cooperated.

'Berto remounted and nudged the filly forward. She took a few steps and balked, shaking her head and pawing the ground.

Juan slid of the fence and approached slowly. "You're too sharp with her, Bertito. Get down and walk her a bit more. She needs - "

'Berto launched himself out of the saddle. "Don't tell me what she needs! You don't know anything. If she's misbehaving it's because you haven't been handling her correctly." He tossed the reins in Juan's general direction and spun on his heel.

He'd taken about four steps before he realized what he'd done. His foot skipped a little as he shuddered: he was in _so_ much trouble. For the next three steps he cringed, expecting a voice behind him or a hand on his shoulder. Another step. Another. No one stopped him from climbing the fence and continuing across the dusty ground.

Gilberto swallowed hard. If Juan wasn't going to scold him himself, perhaps he was going to tell Papa. Papa would -

Papa was very sick, too sick to have one of _those_ talks with 'Berto, too sick to be bothered by this again. And Papa would be disappointed. Gilberto had been rude. Again. To Juan, when he promised he never would be again, when he could practically recite a list of Juan's virtues, when he knew Juan did not deserve to be treated shabbily -

He almost turned then. He should apologize. Father _would_ be disappointed, but Juan surely was already. But the thought of looking the old cowboy in the eyes was just so shameful he couldn't bear it.

He didn't go back to the house. He crossed the road and headed up the hill. The grass was golden and dry. The sun was warm. It was a beautiful day.

He wished it would rain.

There was a stand of trees over the crest of the hill. They were old but low and gnarled, and he easily crawled up into the branches.

He was sitting there when Diego appeared. 'Berto glared down at him. "Go away," he said.

Diego looked up at him and shrugged. He was being all serious and mature, just to show Gilberto up. Diego was such a pain... "If you tell Mama what I said to Juan, I'll kick the stuffing out of you."

Diego shrugged at that, too. He looked around on the ground, selected a fallen twig, broke it carefully and squatted down to draw in the dirt. Gilberto couldn't help looking down with interest. When they'd been small, there had been a shortage of paper in the colony. There was only so much you could do with chalk and a slate, so the twins had drawn pictures and words on the hard ground with sharpened sticks...

For hours, they would sit outside, Mama seated in a chair reading aloud or doing needlework, and covered the ground with pictures of houses and soldiers and ships...and silly little poems...and, later, mathematics problems to challenge each other.

Diego looked up, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. "Juan won't tell, either."

"Of course he will."

Diego shook his head. "He thinks Papa is going to die. He feels sorry for you today."

"He's not."

Diego didn't answer. He didn't look up.

'Berto hopped down from the tree branch and came over to look at what Diego was drawing. It was a horse. It was running. It looked very lifelike. "He's _not_."

Diego looked up sadly. "He's not," he whispered dutifully.

Gilberto picked up a stick and began to draw in the dirt.

They had covered the hard ground for several yards in horses and bulls and eagles, when they heard the swish of skirts against the dry grass at the brow of the hill. They turned as one and looked up. Mother.

She was wearing a sturdy grey dress and her hair was in a single, neat braid down her back. When she left the long grass for the shade and the hard packed ground beneath the trees, she paused, then altered her course so she wouldn't walk across the drawings. As she came closer she slowed and leaned down. "Yes, these are very good," she said. "When your father is feeling better we'll bring him out to see them." She glanced upward. "I can't imagine it will rain in the next few days."

'Berto glanced at Diego. He was watching with solemn eyes.

Mama sighed. She looked around, and, spotting a fallen log, took a seat. She motioned the boys to join her. They sat one on each side, and she laid an arm around their shoulders. "Your Papa's sickness is very frightening, I know," she said softly.

"I'm not afraid," Gilberto said immediately.

"Well. Of course not. You're...you're big boys now. But still, we should talk about it."

She looked softly down at them. Diego gritted his teeth and nodded. Gilberto didn't want to stay and listen. He didn't want to know. But Diego was being brave, and so Gilberto had to, too.

"Your papa has an old sickness that comes back sometimes," she said quietly. "It's not like measles, other people can't get it from him. And it's not like pneumonia, it doesn't last a long time. But for a few days he must stay in bed."

"Where did he get it?" Diego asked.

"It first happened when he was in the cavalry in Panama. But there are many places it can happen, even in Europe."

Diego nodded. Then he said, "Who is Alfonzo?"

Mama blinked at that. "Who is...?"

"Papa was yelling last night. He was angry with Alfonzo..."

"Ah." She sighed. "He was not angry. The fever only makes him forget sometimes...He was calling for his brother, your uncle Alfonzo. He misses him very much."

'Berto wondered if he'd miss Diego if_ he_ weren't constantly under foot. Maybe, but probably not.

Mama seemed almost to be reading his mind. "It's a very special thing to have a brother. Mine lives far away in Guadalajara, and I miss him terribly." She glanced at them. "It's true a brother teases you better than anyone else does, but that is only because he knows you better and isn't afraid of you. Mine certainly never let me get away with anything."

'Berto wasn't sure how that could be considered a good thing. Well, Mama was a girl, after all. Sometimes girls had odd ideas.

"And, of course, a brother is on your side, even when no one else is..."

Well that certainly didn't describe Diego.

She patted them briskly. "We should head back to the house. Your father is feeling better just now. Augustus is helping him get dressed for a short visit with the two of you - No, don't run, we have a little time, and the two of you need to be calm for this. Pleasant. He's very...tired just now. You must be on your best behavior."

Gilberto - torn between racing toward the house to see Papa and running away because how could he be calm and pleasant if maybe Papa looked really awful? - froze where he was. Diego, though, put his chin up and offered Mama his arm. On the other side, 'Berto did the same. Mama's arm was very warm and she smelled very good. Calmly, practicing their best behavior, they escorted her back to the house.


	9. July 25, 1814

**July 25, 1814**

Diego's solution to the problem of Senorita Amanda was to get out his art pad whenever he was in her company. At first he drew birds and trees and a garden snake sunning itself on a rock. Then he casually sketched her admiring a flower. When she noticed and very prettily asked for the drawing, he gave it to her. And went back to a study of clouds.

After half a day of pretending to consider it (by the end of which she was planting herself in front of him in subtle poses, hoping to encourage the idea) he asked to do her portrait.

One cannot talk very much while sitting in an attractive pose getting one's portrait painted. Likewise, murmuring charming things and making promises to a woman is much less effective when another man is standing just four feet away painting her picture. The parade of hopeful beaus came and went with very little being said. For three days none of them had cause to be _either_ hopeful or resentful.

Diego himself seemed almost content. He loved painting, but none of his family members had the patience to sit still for very long, so he didn't usually had to work from memory. He took his time and used his best paints, the ones that smelled unpleasant and had to be used outside. He could keep it up for six hours a day, longer than his subject enjoyed sitting.

Felipe admired the plan greatly. He never would have thought to deploy art as a weapon of war (even the personal kind of war where everyone was on their best behavior).

And it was very good thing that Diego's idea worked so well, because Senor Herrera was already a day late. More or less. It was hard to estimate travel time out on the frontier. Any little delay might have set the surveying project back. Probably there was no reason to worry.

But despite Diego's care, the painting was going very quickly. What would they do with Senorita Amanda when it was finished?

Of course...in another day or two, Don Alejandro might be well enough to position himself in the parlor and glare at hopeful suitors in person. Maybe. His fever was finally coming down, as was the swelling in his leg. The doctor had had to clean it once. Debriding. It wasn't nearly as bad as cleaning out the snake bite had been.

He was very weak, though. Maria had him eating rare stake at every meal to build up his blood. Whenever he was awake, Felipe and Gilberto plied him with three kinds of healing tea and red wine. The doctor said he was progressing. Felipe hoped he was right.

Gilberto was reading to him: _The Adventures of Esplandián_. Felipe liked it very much, and normally so did Don Alejandro, but for the last ten minutes or so, he had interrupted again and again to ask about the cattle in the north pasture or if there was any sign of rain or how Diego was doing. Finally, Don Gilberto snapped the book closed and sent Felipe to check and see if supper was ready.

In fact, Maria was just laying out the tray when Felipe came into the kitchen. "Awake, is he?" she asked. "How is he doing?"

Felipe shook his head. "Restless. Worrying."

She tisked. "I hope we can keep him in bed until that leg heals."

Pepe popped his head into the kitchen. "Hey, riders coming. The surveyors, maybe."

Oh, thank God. Felipe closed his eyes briefly, then hurried outside to see for himself

It was indeed the survey party: they were filthy and bedraggled. There had been a storm in the mountains, and they'd lost a pack horse to the flash flood. Then there had been a disagreement with a group of Indians, resulting in the loss of most of the rest of their supplies.

Amanda, of course, was fluttering around fussing uselessly. Well - at least she was enthusiastic and made her father and his men feel welcome. Maria rushed off to get some food quickly on the table. Diego, standing to the side, caught Felipe's eye and signed for Gilberto.

Pausing in the kitchen to scoop us Don Alejandro's supper, he hurried back to the sick room to send poor Gilberto out. "You are thrown to the wolves," he signed. "Go be host."

Gilberto glanced at Felipe slyly and said, "And Father was such amusing company. Ah, the sacrifices I make." He signed "Lots of luck," on his way out.

When Felipe turned back, though, Don Alejandro was smiling. Broadly. He closed his eyes. "Thank you, God, for giving me no daughters." His eyes popped open and he fixed Felipe with a hard look. "You're too young for all this nonsense, I suppose," he said.

Felipe thought of the way Senorita Amanda smelled. Like springtime. He shrugged.

"Hmph! Let me give you some advice, young man. Never, ever, think you can control a woman. You can never be scary enough or tricky enough...Oh, you may think you're in charge, but that is all illusion. You can't stop a woman from _wanting_ things, and if she wants what she wants badly enough..." He trailed off, the glee and triumph draining away. "Men want things, women want things, and they all dance around...My Felicidad... You never knew her, Felipe. That is a shame..."

Oh, no. _That_ was starting to sound like delirium. Especially given that Don Alejandro never talked about his wife with Felipe.

"She was brave and smart and she never pretended to be meek or sweet." He was meeting Felipe's eyes and speaking clearly. This wasn't his fever talking, surely. Maybe. Please, please, let this not be delirium. "You want something from a woman, you ask her. Politely. And if she wants something, you take it seriously. You'll have a good marriage that way, I promise you. She'll trust you and respect you, and that is better than flattery and poetry. Though that poor little fool out there doesn't know it..."

Felipe nodded meekly. "I understand."

"Is that dinner? Beef again, I suppose. Before this is over I'll be dreaming of chickens."

Felipe adjusted the pillows behind him and set the tray across his lap. Then - after only a second's hesitation - he reached up and laid a hand across his cheek. Hot, but not _very_ hot.

Don Alejandro snorted and brushed him away. "I feel fine. I'm not rambling, I'm just trying to explain...You're too young, I suppose. Enjoy it while you can."

He picked at his food for a while before asking Felipe to take away the tray. Felipe sat down in the chair Gilberto had vacated and settled in to wait.

It was Diego who came in to check on them. It was very late by then, and even with a candle burning in the corner, the room was dark. "Well?" he asked softly.

"Talk to him," Felipe instructed.

So Diego sat on the edge of the bed and lifted Don Alejandro's hand. "Papa?" he said softly.

The response was immediate: "Mmm. What time is it?" And that single, relevant question went a long way toward lifting Felipe's fears.

"Only a little after ten. Our guests have retired - they are exhausted and miserable. I'm sure Senor Herrera will want to tell you all about it...when he has had a few days to recover. Quite the adventure...How are you feeling, Papa?"

"Hot."

"Mmmm. You're sweaty. Let's freshen you up, hm? Felipe will you fetch some water? And 'Berto, if he's not busy."

Gilberto wasn't. After sending him along, Felipe filled a large bucket with cool water, added a couple of drops of the precious rose oil, and collected a pile of clean flannels and towels.

The twins didn't need his help with the actual washing. They had lit the lamps and opened the window slightly to let in some air. They worked very smoothly together, scarcely needing to talk as they lifted Don Alejandro into a chair, helped him clean away the salt and stink of sickness, and dressed him in a clean nightshirt. While they were busy, Felipe changed the bedclothes.

"I'll stay tonight," Gilberto said, glancing at the chaise lounge in the outer room.

"Nonsense," Don Alejandro protested as the twins shifted him back to the bed. "You are too tall; you look absurd sleeping there. Anyway, I don't need to be stared at all night. Go to bed."

Very,_ very_ patiently, Diego said, "You cannot get out of bed by yourself, Papa. And you are still a little feverish. We will not leave you alone."

"Now see here. I am the head of this household, and I am sending you all to bed."

The twins were _not_ looking at each other in that way that always made Felipe nervous. Gilberto sat on the edge of the bed. "Yes, Father. I absolutely would never question your authority. If you don't want me on the chaise, I'll...sleep on the floor."

Don Alejandro leaned past Gilberto do glare at Felipe. "What I said before? It also goes for sons. You can't _force_ them. And God help you if they get an idea into their heads. Sons! Ha. I gave _my_ poor father fits, God rest his soul... Not like my own responsible and conventional boys, oh no...All you can do is hope they will be brave and intelligent and loyal and - and kind - " He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and Gilberto, clearly terrified, drew back a little and looked to Diego.

"It's all right," Diego said gently. "Everything is fine. It's the infection, that's all...You're not yourself. Lie back, Papa. You'll feel better in a few days."

"Not children anymore..." he sounded like a very old man.

Diego put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Papa."

Don Alejandro turned his face away. Diego and Gilberto shared a long look and then Diego said good night and collected Felipe.

When they were alone in Diego's room, Felipe asked, "How bad is it?"

"The wound isn't streaking or colored and there was very little pus." Diego sighed. "The odd things he was saying, that was weakness, not delirium. I know it is difficult, seeing him so...not himself. But really...Don't worry. And speaking of not worrying, I don't suppose I can send _you_ back to your room?" He glanced at the bedroll (a good deal more padded than it had been before) tucked into the corner beside the desk.

"No one is close enough to hear you if you need something," Felipe said. It was not a protest, it was a refusal.

Diego nodded. After a moment he said, "Thank you."

It was a quiet night.

The next day was quiet, too. Two young men dropped by, but Senorita Amanda was not seeing visitors, with her father just back from his arduous mission. Diego invited both young men in for snacks and conversation, then walked them back out to their horses.

Don Alejandro was doing much better. If better meant 'frustrated and bored,' well, at least he wasn't actually yelling at anyone. Felipe and Maria and the twins took turns sitting with him.

The day after that, Senorita Amanda offered to sit for Diego again, but Diego declared that the painting was nearly finished, and he could go on without a model. He set up the easel in the side courtyard and got back to work. No doubt there would be more suitors today, but Senor Herrera could handle them.

After an hour, Diego laid aside his brush and sat down in one of the cane chairs. "It might be finished," he said. "I'm trying to decide."

Felipe laughed. "Don't you know?"

"You would think. As lovely as the subject was...this was difficult to do."

"It is magnificent!" It was Don Alejandro's voice, and Diego jumped nearly a foot in the air with surprise.

"Father, you shouldn't be - 'Berto, what are you _thinking_?"

Don Alejandro was in his dressing gown and slippers, leaning on Gilberto on one side and a cane on the other. He was moving very slowly, but Diego scowled: he should not be moving at all.

"I was thinking fresh air and sunlight will do him good. I was also thinking I am not convincing enough to stop him."

With one on each side, Don Alejandro was lowered into a chair. Felipe slid forward another chair to prop up the injured leg. "Can you bring it closer, Diego? I would like to see this painting."

"Careful. It's still wet."

"It is...impressive, Diego. There is no other word for it. You have captured her."

Felipe didn't think so. Surely, in life Senorita Amanda didn't look so cheerful and sympathetic... Or maybe she did look _exactly _that, and Felipe only thought her eyes were cruel and dangerous.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"It's a gift, of course," Diego answered immediately. "Though my humble efforts are hardly worthy."

"Hmmm." Don Alejandro agreed. Gilberto smirked.

"Wedding gift," Felipe said.

"Marriage -? What?" Diego asked.

"Maria says _She_ might be considering one of the men."

"Noooo," Gilberto protested nervously. "Her father wouldn't let her marry _here_. Surely. They're from Mexico City..."

Don Alejandro frowned. "He is considering settling in Alta California. He wants to see the land around Santa Barbara before he makes up his mind..."

"Noooo," Gilberto muttered.

Don Alejandro leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. "However it ends, it is not our problem." He sighed. "The sun feels very good, doesn't it?"

Diego frowned. "You're not cold, are you, Father?"

"Felipe, do I sound like that when I fuss? Don't answer that, I don't want to know. Diego, I am _fine_. Now let me sit here and enjoy the quiet."

Z

Victoria visited after siesta. She brought a flan, a treat for Don Alejandro. She also had a book as a get well present. "Not the best book, I'm afraid. The dry goods store didn't have many left. This one's French, on ship building, I think. But you read French, don't you?"

"Thank you, Victoria. You shouldn't have." He smiled ruefully. "Of course, I've read most of the books we have...and most of the books most of the neighbors have. Ship building will be interesting."

She didn't stay long, since it was obvious that Don Alejandro was very weak. But she kissed his cheek as she left.

Diego walked her back out to her little wagon. When he turned to lift her into the seat, she took his hand and asked earnestly, "Are you all right, Diego? This must be very difficult."

Diego tried to smile. Realizing he wasn't succeeding he shrugged and said, "It is easier with friends. Father _is _going to be all right."

"If you need anything, you have only to ask."

Diego murmured a thank you and politely lifted her into the wagon.

Z

Since the survey party was visiting, Felipe sat with Don Alejandro while the boys substituted as hosts at dinner. The 'busy' day had tired him, and he barely managed to stay awake long enough to eat.

Felipe sat in the outer room, looking through the new book by candle light. His French wasn't nearly good enough to make out the engineering, but the diagrams were very interesting.

He was still puzzling out a section on steering mounts when the twins crept in two hours later.

"Is he asleep," Gilberto signed.

Felipe nodded. The twins looked at each other, then Diego tiptoed to the bed and sat down on the edge. "Father?"

Don Alejandro stirred and groaned. "Diego?" and then, "Is it the night guard already?" and a moment later, "No, Diego, not you. You need proper sleep."

"I'm not staying, Father. We just wanted to check on you. And we need to make a report."

Don Alejandro groaned and sat up. Gilberto passed him a cup of tea, which, grimacing, he gulped down. He twitched aside the covers and allowed Diego to check the dressing.

"All right. Now. I am wide awake. What do you have to 'report?'"

The twins glanced at each other unhappily.

"Well," Diego said.

"Felipe was right," Gilberto said.

He glanced from one to another. "So? He's fairly bright. What was he right about?"

"Amanda Herrera is betrothed," Diego said.

"To Emilio Pascal," Gilberto said.

Don Alejandro gasped, very nearly levitating off the bed. "Saint Mary and Joseph and all of the angels, you are - You are kidding me! This is a joke."

"She thinks," Gilberto said heavily, "that he is _gorgeous_."

"Her father is quite satisfied with his position," Diego added.

Don Alejandro began to laugh. "It isn't a joke, it's a nightmare. He lives just a few miles from here. She'll be living..." He stopped. "Well, how very nice for the happy couple. I am sure they are well suited to one another."

Gilberto choked, trying not to laugh.

"We are invited to the wedding," Diego said.

"Of course we are...Poor Mendoza. He will be crushed."

"The good news," Gilberto said, "is that if anyone is going to get into fights for her, it will be _her husband_ and not you." 

"Yes, that is very nice. Reassuring. Well. It is not our problem. And, of course, I wish the best for the happy couple. At least Diego has already made the wedding gift."

"How convenient," Diego said wryly.

Gilberto shooed him. "Go on. It's late. I can bed Father down."

Diego kissed his father's cheek, collected Felipe, and withdrew to his room.

~end


End file.
